Talk About It - Cam'Ron

Talk About It - Cam'Ron

Альбом
1st Of The Month: Box Set
Год
2014
Язык
`英語`
Длительность
226200

以下は曲の歌詞です Talk About It 、アーティスト - Cam'Ron 翻訳付き

歌詞 " Talk About It "

原文と翻訳

Talk About It

Cam'Ron

Call the doctor up, the jewels sick

Front get confronted, the tools grip

My gun stay long like a pool stick

I don’t need it, I could kill em with a toothpick

Like a bad hand, no prob.

folding em

Make em a golf course, 18 holes in em

Like a Jamaican shirt, 28 grams I could make it work

Straight to work, like amber stay alert

'Fore I creep up behind you

Won’t see me coming like the swine flu, huh… times two

Remind you I’m way way worse

Like the FK, AK, trey 8 first

I tell mami «ohh display your purse»

Treat my dick like a sprite obey your thirst

Walk in the weed spot, Louie shirt, g-shock

Lennox Ave to d-block, we hot… oowww

My mom had 3 strokes, fell hard

No sympathys, flowers, get well cards

All swell god, no lost love Ak

She driving again, put her in soft spot

Gotta thank Tito Poppin, off top

Got her medicine, vicodins, cough drop

Now I’m back out, niggas jaw drop

Girls dras drop, glass say fuck em all ock

Hit em hard rocks, right in they soft spot

January 2nd until the ball drop

I don’t lobby for more props, I’m something that ya’ll not

Porsche hot, out in the ball park

The faucet leaking, I don’t play with leaks

Song get played early, break his teeth

I’m a fuck the nigga up that made this beat

Two piece, dope fiend, straight to sleep

I’m a keep it a hundred, these niggas don’t want it

Either a head shot or a bullet to the stomach

If you live, you’ll never fully recover from it

If you die, we gon pop bottles 'til we vomit

And nah, we don’t wear diamonds, we roc comets

My money came illegally, fuck it at least I’m honest

Finally bout to leave all the bullshit behind u

So right now death is the only thing I can promise

40's and the lamas, we hitting everything except the shorties in pajamas

Shooting in the Miami heat, like Chalmers

Slugs make you feel like you rocking leather bombers

Somebody call the coroners, I’m a hustler did numbers in the drought

You at your moms crib for the summer on the couch

A lot of niggas suck, nothing to figure out

They put themselves in the hole, want you to dig em out

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