The Brown Stains of Darkeese Latifah Part 6-12 (Remix)

Album: Cherry Bomb (2015)
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  • Oh, you the motherfucking man, huh?
    Oh, you be fucking bitches, counting all the bands, huh?
    Oh, you be trapping out the bando selling grams, huh?
    Oh, you be smoking, drinking lean, and popping Xans, huh?
    You see, that's the bullshit that I don't need
    I'm telling y'all niggas, y'all ain't fucking with me
    See, I look in the mirror and he said, "You are the man"
    And I said, "Hey man, I agree"

    Rocks on rainbow, Ben's a nice fellow
    Your neck reflects yout personality, and mine is yellow
    Boy, I hit the block, like I hate Legos
    They know they got thirty seconds, Jared Leto
    Before they see some halos, and I reload the ammo
    Boy is Golf Wang-o, and that's the squad I bang-o
    I tell my fucking [?]
    Now lets reload the aim-o

    Can't a nigga get some fucking chaos in hurr?
    Want the truth in the [?]
    And you can get your ass [?] like a kick in the snare
    Schoolyboy's my niggy, you know I'm good [?]
    That boy's not that bad, enh, it's no biggy
    It's the G-O, the L-F, we go-go, no homo
    We black out, and go hard like JoJo and fuckin' Diggy
    No ship in this series, and I just want Iggy, man
    We been Batmen since Batman have a sidekick
    Catch me in some vans like one of them soccer mamas
    And them bitches blue like that family went to the Dodgers, solve em (Oh no!)
    You can't bitch, I'm a problem
    You get fucked up like the thoughts this side of my noggin
    Going harder than the quidditch in Harry Potter
    All my shows got one black in it like Larry David
    And I'm that nigga
    Meaning I'm two niggas
    I'm schizo, Brent Lowe, my motherfucking bingo
    Pink and yellow on my neck remind you of my dickhole
    And I don't really fuck with you niggas, shout out to Jim Crow

    Don't get offended, love being darkskinned
    23 with the crib and I don't got no tenants
    And I don't like sports, but the court got a tennis
    Is that diamonds on your neck? Stay the fuck out my bidness
    See, that's the cherry bomb, get my burr on
    That's McLaren, '91 out the Chevron
    Motors Flog Gnaw, Vans on, fuck your Jordans
    Went from throwing up to throwing carnivals (Yeah, nigga!)

    Boy, I'm a sicko, flacko nigga but kinda macho, boy
    I got some vatos shadow [?], he kinda loco
    Pack a [?] pistol, we splitting nachos
    Then for that cheese, boy, he [?] some shells just like a taco
    So grab your goggles, nigga
    Taco Tuesday, you don't want none of that
    Have you heard of Fairfax, boy, we was running that
    Nigga took the store from us, yeah, fuck all of that
    (Man, he really took the store)

    Crack a cracker with a barrel
    Gang bang tattoos, this ain't a Louis rag
    [?] got me crip crazy
    Pants heavy, sag to the left
    With the belt strapped, no face mask, nigga, just toe tags
    Still the blunts getting past ya
    Ain't worried bout no niggas, nigga
    Grieve over suckers, gunpowder on my knuckles
    Call the ambulance, I'm from the era of crip walking
    You was clown-dancing
    You wanna be me, huh?

    Cuz is wack when he raps, and what he rap, he ain't done
    Top Dawg, Wolf Gang, smell the cat on your tongue
    Pussy boy you fucked over, nigga, control your gums
    Teeth missing, moms' won't recognize your face when it's done
    My square homie's license, double life in my trunk
    Mind, power, body, and soul, we break handcuffs
    Got a strike on my record, double cups, and duck
    You want the life like us, you need to crip that coast
    You want to steer that wheel
    You want to smoke that kil'
    Well who am I? Writer/s: Quincey Hanley, Tyler Okonma
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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