 |
|
 |
In search field below type the name of album, song and/or artist,
specific words from the song. Check appropriate boxes.
|
 |
|
 |
| |
|
| |
|
Electric Wire Hustler Flower Lyric | | | | |
[Common] Yo!
[Chorus (x8)] Electric! Wire! Hustle!
Flower!
[Common] Blood and magic dripping from me True thugs
and addicts I grip an entry Enter this game with tricks and envy I forget
game to remain an emcee Rooms in this mind that's still empty, only fufilled
through prophecy You stoppin me, you see I'm tryin to catch this plane You
must be slow nigga, catch your brain It's fresh, but it is some stress and
pain Got hos?, Ho nigga respect the game I talked to cab drivers about the
fast lane And Islam, masters and shakras? and beyond Think about the
hustle and somehow I see by But what led it to the concrete, BS be
strong You was at your hardest when you didn't even try Live like a bitch,
to bitch you gonna die
[Chorus (x4)] Electric! Wire! Hustle!
Flower!
[Common] Mercury and retrograde, I'm trying to get
niggas in the ghetto paid While they watch pornos and Escalades, away from
floats and the dope in sex parades Somebody screamin in my mind, I'm tryin to
find if it's me Or voices on the master, they desgin to be free Same
revolt, can't be found on TV, or radio, its livin in me Hey lady, that smoke
is bothering me If I put it in your eye, ashes you would cry All this rap
talk is blowing my high I just came to chill and build with my guy I try
to walk but I stumble off the humble path This story of a pimp stick that
became a staff You got it, you gotta know where to aim the Mag Art and
oppinions are made to clash
[Chorus (x4)] Electric! Wire!
Hustle! Flower!
[Common] Out of body hard to explain, like the
pyramids and gods I remain I know pain, like Kurt Cobain, or ain't I playin
hurt the whole game Dig it to the Earth's brain for worst gain Focused
like young blood on his first chain I used to write shit to please
niggas Now I write shit to freeze niggas Whether iced out, or American Pie
sliced out I sit in the room with the lights out Whether diced out, or
with their hair spliced out I sit alone in the room with the lights out
screamin
[Chorus (x8)] Electric! Wire! Hustle! Flower!
|