Chief Kamachi - Grill Cheese lyrics

rate me

When the Dj sing calls, everybody hear the drum stop

That's the error where all the classical tunes drop

Workin' on that slave ship, punching on that coon clock

Tryna scrape some money, don't forget yo fuckin' boombox

Fresh pair of Timbalands, that's how all the goons rock

Couple got rich of of baking soda and moon tops

No monk in the crap game, tryna rig a rap game

Now I rock the show and put the purpose back for back pain

Triple fat goose, gazelles with the black frame

I'm old-school, nigga, you laughin' at my fat chain

Clit form, pit form, nothin' the common puddle

Raised off of four hotdogs and roman noodles

Chief Kamachi, for Philly raised and bread

Let the bullet from my sucka nigga grind yo head

More than 15 years, check the temperature

Mixture of Beebis Eagle, Black Thorn and Last Zipper Rag

(Hook x2)

Real G's, I need a loaf of bread

Dirty fire, bread with butter

It's the music from the gutter