Blenderz
Yeah! Uh!
Thought for Food, Volume Three
Bronzeman, he's back
Yes, I'm back, man
Shout out to Motown, Gun Rule (It's me, Jesus Feet)
All my niggas, yeah!
Ayo
What's swag sauce when I'm coughing up jewelry?
The hottest man near the slaughterhouse, surely
With better promo, the fans would know accordingly
I chop the track up and send it to my orderlies
I'm on a beast mission, most consistent when you hear it
Hip-Hop's dead? I'm at award shows in spirit
106 and Park, kid flows can never feel it
Tunnel through the dark mentals, forever feel it
Moved off Joy Road I still see it healing
Still hear the gunshots and I build with the victims
Street minister, administer my wisdom
Not a gangster, but check my trunk, see what's in it
Might see me sinnin', blowing bags off Lyndon
On Cherrylawn, lower flags for Kingpins
Salute the mission, we shoot we not missin'
Timb boots still in my kitchen, in the basement, the henchmen
In the palm, what I'm clenchin', make a nigga memory ancient
If he get anxious the spark dances
This some District 36 shit, daily wig split
Burglary and homicide, where my uncle Bobby died
That's right, I got people from here to the Amistad
Oh my God, pull my gun if they run up to try and rob
Through the midst of the blunted cigars
I'm not moving for nobody, I've made it this far
How can they say such a thing! (Made it this far)
Why do we do the things we do?
It's gets off track and it it it, it gets all mixed up in politics!
It It gets all mixed up in hierarchy!
It gets all mixed up in rules and regulations!
And it argues over the poor man in the ditch!
And winds up passing him by, and God has to use a heathen Samaritan to pick him up
Take his Gospel to the furthest corners of the globe, and nothing else matters
Thought for Food, Volume Three
Bronzeman, he's back
Yes, I'm back, man
Shout out to Motown, Gun Rule (It's me, Jesus Feet)
All my niggas, yeah!
Ayo
What's swag sauce when I'm coughing up jewelry?
The hottest man near the slaughterhouse, surely
With better promo, the fans would know accordingly
I chop the track up and send it to my orderlies
I'm on a beast mission, most consistent when you hear it
Hip-Hop's dead? I'm at award shows in spirit
106 and Park, kid flows can never feel it
Tunnel through the dark mentals, forever feel it
Moved off Joy Road I still see it healing
Still hear the gunshots and I build with the victims
Street minister, administer my wisdom
Not a gangster, but check my trunk, see what's in it
Might see me sinnin', blowing bags off Lyndon
On Cherrylawn, lower flags for Kingpins
Salute the mission, we shoot we not missin'
Timb boots still in my kitchen, in the basement, the henchmen
In the palm, what I'm clenchin', make a nigga memory ancient
If he get anxious the spark dances
This some District 36 shit, daily wig split
Burglary and homicide, where my uncle Bobby died
That's right, I got people from here to the Amistad
Oh my God, pull my gun if they run up to try and rob
Through the midst of the blunted cigars
I'm not moving for nobody, I've made it this far
How can they say such a thing! (Made it this far)
Why do we do the things we do?
It's gets off track and it it it, it gets all mixed up in politics!
It It gets all mixed up in hierarchy!
It gets all mixed up in rules and regulations!
And it argues over the poor man in the ditch!
And winds up passing him by, and God has to use a heathen Samaritan to pick him up
Take his Gospel to the furthest corners of the globe, and nothing else matters
Credits
Writer(s): Justin Cross
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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