Paroles Notraprock de Brooks Buford

Brooks Buford
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  • Artiste: Brooks Buford25640
  • Chanson: Notraprock
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Textes et Paroles de Notraprock




Brooks: Yo, we recording?
Dude: Yeah
Brooks: Ok. Hold on a minute. Lemme stretch out.

B to the r to the o to the o to the k to the s to the
B to the u to the f to the o to the r to the d
Yeah, God straight fucked up when he made me
Yeah go head buck up grab that mic
Don't give a fuck if you scream all night
You ain't no rapper, quit that shit
Stick to surfboards, suck my dick
I came to clean house, punch and roundhouse
Rhyme and run mouth, straight from down south
That's why all of y'all punks got dropped
I'll be the first to say, "Fuck rap-rock!"
I'm pumpin' OutKast and Goodie Mobb
What U know about La-Di-Da
Boogie Down and the history
How y'all came up a mystery
I've lived this hip-hop shit my whole life
And it almost took my life
I die for this, bleed for this
You want this, I need this
Let the world go to hell, I'll still fill notebooks
And I know just how that coke cook
Couldn't come thru the front so I came thru the back
With a band and a bottle of Jack
Dog, I ain't stupid, go ahead let's freestyle
I'll be havin' you lookin' like a shit pile
The ATL version of 8 Mile
With a jumpsuit dipped in argyle
Bangin' four or five ho's in the back of a Rodeo
Driving down Rodeo
With a shot gun in my mind
MD 20/20 one more time
One more flow, one more show
One million hundred ninety-nine to go
'Keep it real'. Naw, fuck that, make money
And try to buy up the whole country
Ain't afraid to die so punch me
Even rhyme with my head cut off like a chicken, stickin' to my dreams
Everything ain't what it seems
Come on dummy, run that game
Southern boy with a brain
You all slept didn't you
Whole bunch for me, none for you
I really hate to rub it in
But I got all my publishing, that's right
But anyway bustin' on this mic
Better than smokin' on that pipe
Some they hate, some they like
Some they talk, some they bite
Monday morn' to Sunday night
Let's get this party started right?
Wrong!

Break that bong, sing along
Do a line til the break o' dawn, til the money gone
Back up that buck, it's mine again
Hijacked a truck of Heineken
Looks like it's time for a line again
And how bout five Kolonapin
And I start to grin and I start to dance
I'm speakin' in tongues, takin' off my pants
I'm blowin' my whole goddamn advance
And we ain't gonna stop 'til the ambulance

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