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    Jim Jones

    Blow Your Smoke

    4:02
    4.62 МБ
    160 кбит/с
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    Добавлена 7 октября 2010 пользователем N1

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    Текст песни Blow Your Smoke
    Текст песни Blow Your Smoke
    This one is dedicated from Harlem to all ya'll
    This goes out from the streets of Harlem to everywhere
    Blow ya smoke
    And if you ride high, puts your lighters up in the air
    Blow ya smoke
    I'm blowin smoke with my top back
    I got my gun on me top that
    She started pressin buttons I told her stop that
    Can't front I was watching where them cops at
    The sun is out, my wrist rocked out
    I miss all my niggas locked out
    So I roll a blunt for the good times
    We was just in the slums like "Good Times"
    Keep a bad bitch like Malona
    Me and Dev was doing henny and coronas
    Getting money hustle hard they was on us
    And we still poor liqour for the goners
    We blow smoke like we blow money
    It's no joke but it's so funny
    She ate me up and said "it's so yummy"
    The niggas sho hate but the hoes love me
    Spend a couple G's on my bitches purse
    Lookin at the screen as I hit reverse
    Lightin up backin out of Neman's
    My jewlery loud like it's screaming
    And when the last time you seen him?
    Shootin past, something fast, european
    Capital B on the gear shifta
    No breeze from the ceilin let the air hit ya
    I'm god blessed like a Prayor scripture
    Lord knows tryna make it up there with ya
    Until then I light one up
    Stay strapped in case a nigga wanna run up
    I'm still watched by rap police
    They still search me in the club like I'm strapped with heat
    Might catch me pumpin out in backstreets
    I might be diggin out yo broad in the backseat... fucker
    I just wanna smoke trees in a safe place
    But when I do that I get a court case
    I get a P.O. who's an asshole
    I get bum smokers, always low on doe
    I get cussed out by my mom and them
    Changin all the locks, won't let me in
    I get cotton mouth, I get a bad rep,
    I get a book tellin me to take twelve steps
    Smokin on some refa, gettin on my Wiz khalifa
    Had my teachers concerned real talk
    But to preach what I was taught
    Master your high and learn to skywalk
    Life too short ain't got no reset
    So do what you want, not what they expect
    And in the meantime Clockin hella checks
    While you fly real high on them paper jets fool
    Real dreams come true
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