Where's my gold record? Where's my record? Where's my record? [ Divine Styler ] Divine Styler with Physical Poets, look out [ Donald D ] Microphone King Donald D the notorious, yeah [ Bronx Style
My first prison meal the whole feeling was foul It wasn't quite my style but my stomach growled So I washed the shit down and hit the weight pile The brothers
his watch and his chain Country boys off the hook down there and Richmond main. In the black 740 I sat, hat turned back Bow down baby nelly singing my
them got nothing on me aint got my style they aint got nothing on me nothing on me way i walk way i talk my swagga look around every dude wanna have
hood right now They question whats gettin' Gucci high? Stupid wild, stupid stupid wild, Homie thats my style Girls fightin', Hoes fist fight, man Just to touch my tie Get my
My brother If you could cast a little light on someone It's not too soon You took me halfway round the world I'm running out of time and reasons My true
my team gets down to da "Brown Brown Brown" Down to da "Brown Brown Brown" Down to da "Brown Brown Brown" [Kardinal Offishall] Word, this is for my brother in my
walk through a dance tell a yute, ?Excuse me? Tellin' your jubie, ?I like her style? She's talkin' about, ?Abuse me, use me Show me how the T Dot rolls? My style
And everytime I see your thighs, I cry when I drive by Watching you should be a thrill, got the fellas Hustling trying to get, steady screaming my, my, my, my
go psycho when my new joint hit (Oooh) Just can't sit Gotta get jiggy wit it Ooh that's it Now honey, honey come ride DKNY, all up in my eye You gotta
to my motha When I come back there be no time to clock I'll have enough money to buy out the glocks Tell my brotha go to school in September So he won
's my style, to hit you at the right time No other compares to what Nas write down Tell you my dreams, show you my pain is yours You could get what you
a slave Boilin' in my veins, it's just hot Until a nigga can't take it no more Blood of a slave, heart of a king turn my voice up Aiyyo, the brother
outside I'll never catch a vehicular homicide My music is a description of my vibe of course My life, my sites, my thoughts, what I like on my fork '
me, shit on me, spit on my grave Talk about me, laugh behind my back but in my face Y'all some "Well wishers", friendly actin', envy hidin' snakes With your hands out for my
poem for the many gun-slingers R&B singers, perpetrating guns with two fingers My style is perhaps one of the foulest I inhale large clouds of smoke through my
the K Put the mask up on the face just to make the next day Brothers be gaming, ladies be claiming I walk the streets and camouflage my identity My posse Uptown wear the mask My
Startlight to starbrite the freaks come out at night Like my man Wyclef (I wear my sunglasses at night) And my panache will mosh your entourage Squash your squad and hide your body under my