Вершы: Clipse. Momma I'm So Sorry.

(Gather Round...)
(Miami Vice... For My Cocaine Dreamers... You Kno... Miami Vice)

(... Pusha Spit This Shit For Ya'll...Here We Go)

[Pusha T:]
Youngun don't make my cells rise, I shoot you out ya chuckers
Pusha hear the whispers of all you mothafuckers
Papa said stay free of them suckers
Minus the wicked jumper, street balla like the rucker
Skip to my loo if you looking for a couple roosters in the duffle
Keep the hood screaming cock-a-doodle-doo fuckers
Coke by the ton, rap niggaz I'm the one
With basic rhyme pattern, how the fuck you trying to chatter
Basic ass rappers got 'em running for they life
I philosophies about glocks and keys
Niggaz call me young black Socrates, West Indies
Bitch drop to knees quick (what)
With dreams of being a rich man's bitch
Feel sorry for niggaz, pull triggers and they shit click
So many bullets jammed in my shit call me lead fist
Shake the diamonds out my wrists

[Chorus:]
Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious
I don't fear Tubbs and Crockett
Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious
Got two hot rocks in my pocket
Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious
Big home, palm trees and watches
Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious
My only accomplice is my conscious
(Gather Around...)

[Malice:]
Youngun learn from me let's not be at odds
Were more like than not 2 peas of a pod
Same hustle 'cept my hustle now flows
I once gave it away, at 30 grams an O
That accounts for all them days in the cold
Feels like kissing cake mix, can't wait to lick the bowl
But it's a bigger picture, homes trust I done seen it
From Frankford to Colon, Oslo to Sweden
From Italy's Milan to the shores of Nepali
Now I consider Ferrarian Salvador dalis
I'm no longer local, my thoughts are global
That's why I seen distant, son expand ya vision
Even adored by Norwegian women, blonde hair and blue eyes
I'm gettin' back with a vengeance
Whip it like they want me all attached to the kitten
And they wonder in these raps if I'm kidding, huh

[Chorus]

(Miami Vice...)

[Pusha T:]
Sorry heavenly father, once again I hate to bother
It's P the evil creeper sent some to the grim reaper
Meanwhile, me and my missus like Soloman and Sheeba
Sign of the times her Emilio Gucci sneakers uh
Ghetto literature, I damn near died from Bolivia
It don't take much to get rid of ya, it's a sin for ya
Better call the minister

[Malice:]
I'm sorry grandmama for mistakes I have made
When I aired family business, how you put me in my place
Even my baby mama, I can't look you in the face
'Cause I can't do enough, you a symbol of God's grace
So I place you in the flower bed, porcelain shower heads
Throughout the house and keep the younguns' mouths fed
And when I'm gone, I hope it is said
I gave structure to the youth by the example I lead, uh

[Chorus]

(Miami Vice...)


(Thanks to BlackDragon for correcting these lyrics)