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Dmx

Holiday

  rap  hip-hop  gangsta rap  hip hop  dmx
1,799 3 часа назад

Текст песни Dmx - Holiday

Dmx - Holiday слова песни




YeahL o x niggaIt dont stopIt keep goin, and goin, and goin, and goinMotherfuckers[styles paniro]You heard it from the p, you oughta know its the truthI get you kidnapped and raped and thrown off a roofYou could nod your head to this like its only a rapCuz when these bullets hit your ass Im like its only a gatI need a funeral to feel good, Im hopin its yoursThink you delicious, heard he got shot in the crossHoliday styles, bitch I broke most of the lawsFuck with the poor, so flip to the boots, stick to the truthDo anything it takes just to give it a slueAnd missin a tooth, but both of em chipped, toaster is grippedYou heard about the trouble, I start most of the shitWhen I squeeze aint no controllin the wristAnd niggas leave the room when the hear the p blowin his whisIm an ignorant and negative niggaI sell crack, bust guns, pop shit, and say Im better than niggasYou think not, Ill look at your man and level a niggaIf you think a rappers better why dont you give me his nameSo I can run up on him, tear him up and give you his frameWhen it comes to the streets, Im the nigga to callFive eight and three quarters, but Im bigger than yallIf I left the gun home, ima give you the swordIm the devil in the flesh, I cant give you the lordIt dont make no sense for you to pray for your lifeI got my niggas in the crib, you oughta pray for your wife[chorus: jadakiss and styles][jadakiss:] uh huh, holiday[styles:] I gotta make it to heaven for goin through hell[j:] holiday[s:] and I dont care if I sell, yall know what I sell[j:] holiday[s:] I use my left hand when Im loadin the shells[j:] holiday[s:] cuz I know it aint right, thats why Im blowin a l[styles paniro]Yo, I do it all for my niggas, even rob wit a bombGet shot, die in his arm, and give him my lastIts a million dollar bail, ima get it in cashI sell crack like its 88, I live in the pastYou know the p carry the gun, live in the maskTell niggas show me the money and gimme the stashI like malibu and pineapple, fiftys of hashHundreds of dro, wear my clothes a week in a rowSleep on the floor, catch me right next to the dogIm holiday styles, and thats what the weaponry forAnd I probably wont blow for the fact that Im hardBut Im good with ten million in the back of the carEither that or get life and lift the rack in the yardGettin jewels from the old timers, stashin the cardsBut jail aint part of the plansI keep weight on the scale cuz I feel I get further with gramsIn my last few bars, I run through niggas like my last few carsAnd crash em up, the boy mighta went platinum but dont gas him upI get his length and his width and get his casket cutI dont deal with the snakes and fakesBut I deal with the comas and wakes, I dont make mistakesDouble r now bitch you oughta know ima ghostBlow up your face, blow up the coke, and blow up the smoke[chorus]

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