GODFATHER DON

GODFATHER DON - Voices lyrics

rate me

(feat. Kool Kieth)

[Kool Kieth]

Yeah....Dr. Strange love...once again I gotta tell you how it is....

Verse 1: (Kool Kieth)

I used to check out, use the mad route

stare at these ugly bitches, sit at the table with frowns with their

stomachs out

cellulite for weeks, rules in these NewYork streets

with mad Babies, big heads movin' in the stroller

you gettin' older while that dress hangs off your shoulder

you stupid bitch

he's sick, the kids got the shits

you walkin' wack with those problems in your ass crack

you chose this nigga, he's a zero girl, doin' nothin'

you was buggin' because the bum had curly hair

you got psyched, the baby came out with some nappy hair

you was a fine freak, thoroughbred dumb with no head

I seen you screamin' with your panties up in B.B.Q's

your friends are fat with guts, breakin' all the rules

you choose to lose, no cheers, recievin' booes

rent is due with some old crab nigga fuckin' you

it's true, it's summertime, what you gonna do?

every winter you got this gay man screwin' you

this bitch is a problem, no money, fuckin' dummy

she's from the slum actin' fly eatin' bread crums

shoplifted programs out on the boulevard

stretch marks leak out your tight dress, your legs are scarred

yeah....

[Chorus: singing]

Voices inside my head

problems keeping you fed

[Verse 2: Godfather Don]

This bullshit needs to cease

rappers rappin' for cheese

it's like a disease the way niggas be snatchin' your fees

executives, even accountants playin' artists like chips

the last time you were legit I was suckin' on nips

up in my shit like a Dog checkin' the sex

maybe to get in the Lex

hey, they forget, all the doors slammin'

they crammin', eye jammin'

wait, "My shows slammin'"

cash up your nose Hammond

landin' deals ain't shit if your label ain't shit

nitwits spit for sips while I flip scripts legit

commit to whippin' ass on the mic, it's like a fuckin' runway

these niggas is like bitches fleein' from gunplay

one day when lyrical finesse is stressed instead of dress I'll compress

compression and hate, blow out the best

but it's cool, fools like you makin' crews thats blue stay true

one-Thousand lyrical orators, pay dues

so snooze and get dissed

bust in the head with Cris', fake ice on your wrist

I'm nice and you on my dick like piss

you wish you was half the lyricist that I persist to be

don't say shit to me

Godfather like cicily

the misery's consistency through similes will blemish these

abnormalities in the industry.

[Chorus: singing]

Voices inside my head

problems keeping you fed

voices inside my head

problems keeping you fed

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