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Basket Case

Connections (NY2MTL)

  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s  pop  rock  indie  russian  90s
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Текст песни Basket Case - Connections (NY2MTL)

Basket Case - Connections (NY2MTL) слова песни

[Mr. Q]Yeah, yeah. Check it out. Yo, yo, yo[CHORUS: Mr. Q]It`s the connectionIt`s the connectionIt`s the connectionIt`s the connect sonIt`s the connectionIt`s the connectionIt`s the connectionIt`s the connect sonMr. Q and Mikey Styles, shit is liveYeah, yeah, yo[Verse 1: Mr. Q]So watch the story of a young thugNiggas is bustingNiggas is trying to get they hand on our cheddar, but whateverPart of my mission, is to reach my destinatinoSon, you with me? Aight, then let`s make it happenYo with this rap shit, I`m in itI worry y`all niggas stick it and bring itA lot of niggas talk about the next niggaIs kyou real or are you faking jacks?Y`all niggas ain`t liveThe whole way niggas is standing in the pair of fly tiesNiggas bringing the dramaMy niggas Deeper than the MobbBring the shit like you want itYou can`t bust meI`m like the holy son, the son of Jehovah??? niggas puch your Range RoverPut y`all to sleepYou try to creep after seeing niggas freed youI`ll leave you with a death wishYour peoples miss you thinking you`re aliveMy niggas kick your ass for a rideNow you gone, deadThese niggas took your headInstead of fucking with us you better get with usAnd be the last nigga thinking that you got throughAnd defeat you, you feel offended, then money bring itI take no shorts, I leave you niggas on a crusty crossWhile your priest bother callingHas a sly trade of where my crew is fromThe heart of BushwickI bring it back to Allah`Cause niggas make you cry if you front on some bullshitBut still you frontedNow you bump heads with real niggasYou don`t want itBut yo, you got disrespectedHit you on the spot, must respect itYou got rejectedThat`s what you get when you fuck with rapWith the real niggasNigga you get his cap peeled, shit is real sonYeah, yeah, yo, yoThug bust a slugNiggas don`t give a fuck sonIf ya want it, then you bring itYo, yoThug bust a slugNiggas don`t give a fuck sonIf ya want it, then you bring it[Verse 2: Mikey Styles]Welcome, on the East side of thingsWe `bout the dookie links, diamond rings and thingsHead come around, try throw foul swingsBack stabbing enemies, claim defendingNever shake hands with a crooked wanna beOnly real niggas feel the true energySo feel the vibe niggaHit ya kind of redRepresent yours, time to make this shit shine`Cause rappers that be looking from the sideThen they go and party to heads that`s always liveAin`t fakers whose be down with us, because we bustCriticize the rappers have had enough of what we sayMad love to niggas who live what we sayEast, West, North, South niggas all dayWe gonna bust your ear drumsCall you dun, sonYou know how we do[CHORUS][Mr. Q] Mr. Q and Mikey Styles, yeah, yeah, yeahYo, yo young thug busting slugsNiggas don`t give a fuckIf ya want it son then bring itYoung thug busting slugsNiggas don`t give a fuckIf ya want it, then you bring it[Mikey Styles]Yo, yoLet`s take it to the streetside, the real sideSo don`t move an inch, don`t even flinchJust grab you bag of moneyNow it`s time you representAin`t nothing changed, the crew is stilll snatching endsI`m chilling, sipping Shon Dom`s(sp?)You know how we doI get my buzz on[Mr. Q]It`s the connect sonIt`s the connect sonIt`s the connect sonIt`s the connectsIt`s the connectionIt`s the connect sonIt`s the connect sonIt`s the connect sonNiggas know better not to run this nigga QMy shit, is lyrical when I drop it onThis shit is ludicris, I plant them in tearsSo a lot of niggas out there don`t like my style dunFuck a man, I`m going undergroundSo listen to my soundWord is bond son, niggas is dumbPass me the gun, fuck ya beef and ya speechCome clean in every sceneTry to make it on my ownDukes throw up, they say she try to lose meI got crazy dramaCan count on my mamaI`m going insane, got fucking hoes in my brainTrying to maintain, buy yo I still a fucking messI`m stressed, now I`m smoking ceaseReality got my mind, you know what I`m sayingIt`s the connection

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