TOP песен исполнителя
"Joey Bada$$"
  1. Paper Trail$
  2. Christ Conscious
  3. Big Dusty
  4. No. 99
  5. Save the Children
  6. Piece of Mind
  7. Hazeus View
TOP альбомов исполнителя
"Joey Bada$$"
  1. B4.DA.$$
  2. 1999
  3. Summer Knights
  4. Waves
название:

Don't Forget


автор:

Joey Bada$$


жанры: hip-hop, rap
альбомы: 1999
рейтинг: ★★★★★ / 5.4 / 1448 просмотров
[ASAP Rocky:]
Feelin' like a vigilante or a missionary,
Tell my ASAP killers get they pistols ready,
Send ‘em to the cemetary with obituaries.
Don't be scared, nigga, is you ready?
I've been thinkin' ‘bout all the O's in my bank account,
X the hoes in my bed is ‘round the same amount,
Ever since this new star fame came about
Or ever since me and Drizzy started hangin' out.
Young boy, let his gun bang, let his nuts hang,
Transition to a Lamborghini from a Mustang,
Drugs slang in the drug game with the hustlin',
I know one thing: anything is better than that 1 train.
Bag made of Goyard, cheffin' like I'm Boyar-
Dee, probably sellin' D in your local courtyard,
Braids like I'm O-Dog, my la familia go hard
Down to my inlaws, they outlaws with no laws.

[Kendrick Lamar:]
We outlawed then I bogart, any pros that got ‘proached at
With a toe-tag, get broke off. In the projects with a skateboard
I roll past and I blaze y'all like, “doo-doo”; I hate y'all,
When the beef cooked, I ate y'all like, “Mmm, mmm.” let's play ball
In a ballpark with all sharks and a blindfold, I rhyme cold,
My K hot, your 9 cold,
That bark like K9 drone,
That banana clip, straight from the rip,
I'll make that shirt say R.I.P.; I'm on some shit,
If I'm not the hottest, then Hell must've froze over,
You thought it was safe, then forgot what the code was,
I carry traits of a traumatized soldier,
Don't look in my face, I might snap, I might choke ya
Spine right out of place, give me dap like you ‘posed to,
Darts at your posters, dark nights like this
I metamorph like I'm ‘posed ta, I might slice my wrist
Or pretend like a vulture and drop off this cliff.

[Joey BadaSS:]
Barely even conscious, talkin' to my conscience,
Gettin' deeper in these flows like conches,
I'm on my convict, don't drop bars, I drop prisons.
Don't sell rocks seen the spectrum through the prisms,
Somehow bypassed the bias and the –isms,
The violence and the killin', so given,
They seen my pigment and thought that was the ign'ance,
Unfortunately, I am not that type of niglet.
But pass the pot let me skillet,
Just got back to the block from a 6 o'clock with Jigga,
And I'm thinkin' ‘bout signin' to the Roc,
But my niggas on the block still assigned to the rocks.
And I swear it hurt me soul,
I try to prevail, but when I preach it only hurt their sales,
Like you're only gon' end up either dead or in jail,
But you my nigga, wish you the best for real.

[Yelawolf:]
When you mention my name amongst other white rappers
Or for that matter, any fuckin' rapper, fuck it.
Painter, skater, musician, trailer park dirt ditch diggin',
Burger flippin', eat, sleep, shittin' human being – you would be in
Trouble to body double or couple me to these others,
‘Cause comparatively speakin', my reach is beyond the bubble
That they put me in, my vision's beyond the Hubble's
I huddle with Nubians, new beginnin' again.
You in school at 10, late, “Radioactive” is goin' gold.
And so? Great! Do I give a flyin' duck
If I'm applyin' love to my rhymin' plus alignin' us?
Alabama's climbin' up, wait, no, I don't give a
Flyin' duck, nothing but a buckshot, ch-pow!
Motherfuck your life, pussy blood clot!
Ain't never been no rapper this cold since 2Pac was froze
And thawed out for spa date at a Coachella show;
Yelawolf!

[Danny Brown:]
Weed a different color like a hoodrat bra and panties,
And my flow be overhead like pots and pans in pantries,
Antsy, ‘cause I'm high like Michael Jackson penny loafers,
Moonwalkin' on the sun, barefoot with shades on.
Bitch pussy smell like a penguin,
Wouldn't hit that shit with my worst enemy's penis.
Bitch, when I say this I mean this, “Ho, I'm the meanest.”
Dick so big, stretch from Earth to Venus,
That Molly got me nauseous, on shit no off switch,
Lawless, obnoxious, on that “suck my cock” shit –
That is my synopsis, ostrich pot shit,
Hoes on some God shit. Stop it! You not this!
Novice, regardless, heartless and awkward,
Cryin' tears of vodka, prima donna at the concert;
Adonis, smokin' chronic, ‘bout to vomit gin and tonic,
Just bein' honest, tell me, isn't that ironic?

[Action Bronson:]
Swiftly, I shift the Bimmer 860,
A heavy smoker so you know I brought the Blake with me,
The moon's reflection off the lake hit me,
You should've stayed with me,
Now many Asian bitches lay with me,
The face is silky like a tablecloth,
My shorty gallop in the morning on the beach like a Chilean horse,
Red roses drop on boxes very often,
Confetti torture, drinkin' Henny like I'm Kenny Lofton,
Outstanding.
I fixed the game between Georgia Southern and Grambling,
You see us scramblin', sellin' Susan Sarandon,
The cloud of smoke like the phantom.
Damn this shit tastes like fantastic.
You see me comin' through in each state,
Just so the lord could put the fork inside the cheesecake,
Cuffed to my wrist I've got the briefcase,
The gavel slam, I'm a free man, try not to eat ham.

[Big K.R.I.T.:]
Big KRIT, shawty,
Spit like my last breath: casket rap, six deep,
Eyes closed, the black is back, out come the ‘Lac with flats,
After that, bottles I can't pronounce,
Like, “How you ask for that?”
Why you ask for crack and all you had was scratch?
All I had was rap, when all they had was wack,
All I wanted was love, all they had was dap,
Fuck them haters and fuck them hoes,
A championship win is the aftermath, ask LeBron,
Open palm, slap a bitch,
Walk the plank or break a bank, I've been in the business of sinkin ships,
Chokin niggas out with the anchors that they anchor with,
Resuscitations cost the label, I'm taxin if you want a hit.
Clear. Fuck your career, bitch, I was born here,
Been a killer, ‘86er, nigga, that's my born year,
Get the fuck from ‘round here, that's just my country ways,
Suckin on your momma's titty, bitchin while I was choppin blade,
Grippin grain, fuckin hoes, candy paint like Everglades,
Miss me with that rapper chatter, take that shit up with my bass.
I put that on my sub, how could you ever doubt me?
Most rappers hopin the world end so they won't have to drop another album,
B.B. King saw the king in me, so why can't you?
In order to come up close, you'll have to dig up Cash and Elvis, too.
That wasn't no sample, nigga!
Muddy water flow, Dixie rebel past,
Fuck your Louis flag, poppin Benji tags on your wifey's ass,
That's out of line, but in livin color,
I'm more like Miya Bailey on you rap mothafuckas, a true artist.
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Это интересно:Джо-Воэн Вирджини Скотт (анг. Jo-Vaughn Virginie Scott род. 20 января 1995 года в Бруклине, Нью-Йорк, США) - американский рэппер, певец и продюсер. 12 июня 2012 года вышел его первый микстейп под названием "1999", что является отсылкой к неофициальной дате заката хип-хопа, так называемой "Золотой эры". Также он является участником активно развивающейся группы под названием... продолжение
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