Intro: This is the hard life, when u grow up, it ain't easy to make it out without a knife and a few dead wifes. Man but that's life
[Verse 1:Cole Ruud-Johnson]
Man the life be hard and i ain't even a retard... call me up when your out of court I'm already in that police escort. Going to the airport. Man droppin' rhymes like weezy, and Niger your girls looking' sleazy. I call her a beazy if you haven't heard that girls too easy. I'm taking flight, too you I'm not even in sight. Im flyer than a kite, sky high, and all you gon' do is hate, when you make it no one appreciates, cause no can relate... to the success, to the wealth. They sittin' at home, on the couch, losin' health. Their dying, but so are most rappers, and I'm crying. Im trying to create a new rap, a type without the weed and all the greed, instead of smoking weed, were gonna be out in Africa with our doe. Lettin the kids feed. All you lame ass rappers struggling. You guys suck, yuck. You all are dirt, muck. Y'all ugly. Fuck. Y'all must've been hit by some sort of truck. Ran out of luck. You guys suck dick, you make me sick, and y'all gonna say my rhymes are immature, like yay, but y'all were molded by the devil, like clay. And all i gotta say. Is i don't play
[Verse 2:Alex Killa Kealoha]
Man imma kill it again, like my boy cole, i can also write with the pen. Young men with a dream, but not like most young kids we don't dream about ice cream. We want the doe, and your ho, woah. Ya i said it, and ya you read it. Cole and Alex dropping bars and given out free cars. Cause we ain't selfish, just cause we flyer than you punks. We on Mars. We dream, we pursue, we've been cooking for a while, fondue. Were well done. Having fun, and unlike you niggers we don't even own a gun
[Hook]: We made it from the ghetto to the meadow. We made men. We ready. Were coming for you. Better treat us like gods, bring us confetti
[Verse 3:Cole Ruud-Johnson]
When i'm done spittin' y'all gonna be dead. A dick without head. A gun without led. A tired nigga without a bed. But I'm feeling well. Completely fed. Already took my med. And it ain't weed. Cause unlike most rappers we don't suffer from greed. We dream big and then go get it. Ya'll niggers pick something up for around two minutes and then quit it. We spit it
[Hook}: We made it from the ghetto to the meadow. We made men. We ready. Were coming for you. Better treat us like gods, bring us confetti
[Verse 1:Cole Ruud-Johnson]
Man the life be hard and i ain't even a retard... call me up when your out of court I'm already in that police escort. Going to the airport. Man droppin' rhymes like weezy, and Niger your girls looking' sleazy. I call her a beazy if you haven't heard that girls too easy. I'm taking flight, too you I'm not even in sight. Im flyer than a kite, sky high, and all you gon' do is hate, when you make it no one appreciates, cause no can relate... to the success, to the wealth. They sittin' at home, on the couch, losin' health. Their dying, but so are most rappers, and I'm crying. Im trying to create a new rap, a type without the weed and all the greed, instead of smoking weed, were gonna be out in Africa with our doe. Lettin the kids feed. All you lame ass rappers struggling. You guys suck, yuck. You all are dirt, muck. Y'all ugly. Fuck. Y'all must've been hit by some sort of truck. Ran out of luck. You guys suck dick, you make me sick, and y'all gonna say my rhymes are immature, like yay, but y'all were molded by the devil, like clay. And all i gotta say. Is i don't play
[Verse 2:Alex Killa Kealoha]
Man imma kill it again, like my boy cole, i can also write with the pen. Young men with a dream, but not like most young kids we don't dream about ice cream. We want the doe, and your ho, woah. Ya i said it, and ya you read it. Cole and Alex dropping bars and given out free cars. Cause we ain't selfish, just cause we flyer than you punks. We on Mars. We dream, we pursue, we've been cooking for a while, fondue. Were well done. Having fun, and unlike you niggers we don't even own a gun
[Hook]: We made it from the ghetto to the meadow. We made men. We ready. Were coming for you. Better treat us like gods, bring us confetti
[Verse 3:Cole Ruud-Johnson]
When i'm done spittin' y'all gonna be dead. A dick without head. A gun without led. A tired nigga without a bed. But I'm feeling well. Completely fed. Already took my med. And it ain't weed. Cause unlike most rappers we don't suffer from greed. We dream big and then go get it. Ya'll niggers pick something up for around two minutes and then quit it. We spit it
[Hook}: We made it from the ghetto to the meadow. We made men. We ready. Were coming for you. Better treat us like gods, bring us confetti
( Cole Ruud-Johnson )
www.ChordsAZ.com