No Church in the Wild (Feat. Rick Ross) - Meek Mill

No Church in the Wild (Feat. Rick Ross) - Meek Mill

Альбом
Mr. Philadelphia
Год
2013
Язык
`Angļu`
Длительность
186460

Zemāk ir dziesmas vārdi No Church in the Wild (Feat. Rick Ross) , izpildītājs - Meek Mill ar tulkojumu

Dziesmas vārdi " No Church in the Wild (Feat. Rick Ross) "

Oriģinālteksts ar tulkojumu

No Church in the Wild (Feat. Rick Ross)

Meek Mill

Prime 112 behind the double doors

As I rewind the devils floors

Paths cross, of course your life lost

«Patience a virtue.

Heard that you’re the boss»

Your informant’s correct

Now give me enormous respect

Cornered the game, record label on his chain

Right hand on the bible watch the flow catch flame

Margielas on her feet

Now she riding with a lame all jealous in the Jeep

All the lil homies wanna eat

But we never settle beef

So settle your debts before there’s any regrets

Gino do the graffitti and Black Evander with the Tech

My girls say that I’m a mess

DJ Khaled say I’m the best

And my city do too

20 in the trunk, that’s how city boys move

8.9, now the crib got a view

Mandarin manicure, DEA in pursuit

Champagne and a Rolex, Rose

No church for a d-boy: let’s pray

Ain’t no church in the wild for a nigga like me

In the game so foul in a world full of sin

Where the love flow thin

And the pain run deep

Cause it’s blood in the streets

See the stains on the money, No love for the weak

Where it rain, never sunny, just mud on a beach

Where a hater sticks to you like mud on a cleat

Thanksgiving with the birds just drugs for a feast

Young’n only 13 with a snub in his fleece

Even though his heart’s cold, he in love with the heat

See the high in his eyes, hear the slugs in his speech

From the bottom out of Philly, I emerge from the east

Peace!

At the dealer talking Bugatti talk

You never heard it like Illuminati talk

Tell em haters that it’s my mama’s fault

Breaking bricks — you would think we talking karate talk

Young niggas with old money

Never trust a nigga that said «let me hold something»

Never trust a bitch that tell you she ain’t blown nothing

The Weathermen never tell me about these cold summers

Tears dripped on my dad casket

Niggas turned me into a bastard

Glock 40 on me is plastic

Get to reaching I’m squeezing on him and clapping

And I ain’t talking about assemblies

I’m talking head-shots where niggas won’t remember me

I asked God please remove my enemies

I was surprised when I lost niggas that was friends of me

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