Da Art of Storytellin' (Pt. 2)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Baby, did you hear that? Yeah, baby, I heard it, too
Look out the window, golly, the sky is electric blue
Mama Earth is dying and crying because of you
Raining cats and jackals all shackles disintegrate to residue
Silly mortals haven't a clue as to what the funk is going on
I'm on the telephone dialing the Dungeon ("Hello?")
This Dre, bring the MP and the SP
Meet me at the center of the Earth and travel carefully
Baby, grab the baby, 'cause baby, it ain't much time
Mama Earth is tossin' and turnin' and that's a sign
Omega nigga I.F.O.'s are landin' in Decatur
Hope I'm not over your head, but if so you will catch on later
Played the track, guess she could not take it anymo'
Rapin' her heavenly body like a ho, coochie so'
From niggas constantly fucking her, never loving her
Never showing appreciation, busting nuts in her face when they done
Who says good folks ain't supposed to die?
The sky is fallin', nobody ballin', they done gave back they guns
For some tickets to the playoffs, but the Hornets, they won
Nigga, we slum, kept all the guns, I gotta protect my family
I drove the biggest thing in the house 'cause I knew they'd try to ram me
But I'm stabbing, making my way on expressway the best way I know how
Up in the sky, east, west, no clouds
Him coming now, fuck that money now
I ask my honey how she feeling and, "Is Jordan okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, she chillin'"
We should be at the dungeon shortly, ain't nobody on they porch, see?
Approaching the final exit, I'm thinking I see four horsies
But I don't though, nigga you won't know until it's on ya
I put that on my dope boys from A-Town to California
All the weed smell like ammonia
But at the Dungeon I know they're smoking
Writing the raps and doing the beats to make this last recordin'
Fuck abortion, I got in the booth to run the final portion
The beat was very dirty and the vocals had distortion (-tion, -tion, -tion, -tion)
Who says good folks ain't supposed to die?
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
Baby, did you hear that? Yeah, baby, I heard it, too
Look out the window, golly, the sky is electric blue
Mama Earth is dying and crying because of you
Raining cats and jackals all shackles disintegrate to residue
Silly mortals haven't a clue as to what the funk is going on
I'm on the telephone dialing the Dungeon ("Hello?")
This Dre, bring the MP and the SP
Meet me at the center of the Earth and travel carefully
Baby, grab the baby, 'cause baby, it ain't much time
Mama Earth is tossin' and turnin' and that's a sign
Omega nigga I.F.O.'s are landin' in Decatur
Hope I'm not over your head, but if so you will catch on later
Played the track, guess she could not take it anymo'
Rapin' her heavenly body like a ho, coochie so'
From niggas constantly fucking her, never loving her
Never showing appreciation, busting nuts in her face when they done
Who says good folks ain't supposed to die?
The sky is fallin', nobody ballin', they done gave back they guns
For some tickets to the playoffs, but the Hornets, they won
Nigga, we slum, kept all the guns, I gotta protect my family
I drove the biggest thing in the house 'cause I knew they'd try to ram me
But I'm stabbing, making my way on expressway the best way I know how
Up in the sky, east, west, no clouds
Him coming now, fuck that money now
I ask my honey how she feeling and, "Is Jordan okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, she chillin'"
We should be at the dungeon shortly, ain't nobody on they porch, see?
Approaching the final exit, I'm thinking I see four horsies
But I don't though, nigga you won't know until it's on ya
I put that on my dope boys from A-Town to California
All the weed smell like ammonia
But at the Dungeon I know they're smoking
Writing the raps and doing the beats to make this last recordin'
Fuck abortion, I got in the booth to run the final portion
The beat was very dirty and the vocals had distortion (-tion, -tion, -tion, -tion)
Who says good folks ain't supposed to die?
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
All's well, nothing's well
Credits
Writer(s): Andre Benjamin, Don Cannon, Antwan Patton, Marsha Ambrosius
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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Altri album
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