Текст песни Cali Agents - This is My Life
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[ VERSE 1: Rasco ] It be the raw rhyme spitterm, no glitter with no glam I can still turn out your whole jam It's nothin but fam up in the spot, nigga, ready or not And if you want to see us play, put a buck in the slot We got dangerous plots Schemes and big dreams, big money themes I need just to feed my seed No greed involved, but I still stand tall Be spendin yo time up at the goddamn mall Doin things that don't mean shit Still lookin for tail, I'm lookin for my checks in the mail Without fail we bring it back to its original form Been doin this before you young cats was born Hated in my own backyard, what kinda logic is that? These niggas mad cause I'm bringin it fat In fact, I'm never broke, never blowin the smoke But when I'm standin in the crowd, they be knowin the quotes It's like, how in the hell do these cats even sell? Be spittin big words your ass can't even spell Stars and quasars, a hundred and ten bars Of pure rhymes, I'ma tell you one last time My rhyme's elite, give me 265 feet I might leave niggas sprawled in the street When you spit yours, the shit didn't sound right And now it's because you didn't lay it down right Cover your folks with all the chronic weed smoke You just found out that Ras didn't need folks I do it myself, I keep cash at the spot Be up in your face, whether you like Ras or not [ CHORUS ] This is my life, I gotta live it And if you cats really Don't know we gotta let y'all feel it It's never the same You know we gots to maintain We figured you out, we know your whole damn game (2x) [ VERSE 2: Planet Asia ] Yo, bon voyage, load the track as we take off I break off with explodin facts you can't shake off Experiment in Cali, I rep the Valley up to Central Hoes, flows, big dough and smashin rentals Cross the country like young guns bustin at you outdoors These backpack niggas don't even know what they out for Frontin like they don't want cash Every since I made my first g I knew I had to make shit last I write rhyme for rhyme, line till my mind got elaborate A complicated torturous arrangement on my tablet I'm hard-fisted, on some smoke-a-cigar-split shit Straight out the yard district, here to leave scars inflicted On your wack-ass production, the way we freak beats is unique You feel the heat just like a backlash or somethin I write fast but think slow, I keep my cash wrinkled Yo, catch me blowin grams in Amsterdam at Paradiso Pullin notches, and not only do we rock fresh gear But when it comes to hip-hop, we like a breath of fresh air Like yeah, and just to let y'all side-busters know We rep the underground, but still we out to make dough Know what I'm sayin? [ CHORUS ] |
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