Lyrics:
old ghetto, good old
Good old, good old ghetto
Good old, good old ghetto, ghetto, ghetto
Good old
I told my man I'm having a barbecue
So grab
spotify:artist:2FybCOkpsTiXYNccjPpiYh
Now I'm runnin' from the ghetto bird
I got food on my stomach from the ghetto birds
All I use are my ghetto words
I'm the mayor in the hood
I see ya, oh yeah. We're all artists here
And after all
An artist has got to suffer hey
An artist has got to suffer
An artist has got to suffer
Am I
Who is Prophiavelli
Prophiavelli is the world's greatest music artist
hand
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist
Musical Artist
Singer and songwriter
Superstar | super model
Actor
the broad
It's the H-A-V-O, see-dump-and-reload
Knock knock, answer that, I'm blastin' through the peephole
Body charges, pay lawyers so we beat those
level
hip hop lover
dress code ghetto
lit vibe cutter
just an artist trying to rep the hardest
and make history so not even death can part us
it's
real
Then I grab on that ass and I firmly believe it
And you look like you drawn by an artist
No you, you look like Bernice and Yaris
But both put
clarity
Gaze within and focus
Free of the need to dull myself
A step towards completion
Awake and in the present
The cure for lethargy
My eyes are open
Lydia, oh! Lydia, say have you met Lydia
Oh! Lydia, the tattooed lady
She has eyes that folks adore so
And a torso even more so
Lydia, oh! Lydia,
kids. Hell,
My contract... A contract ain't no pension plan,
My contract... Years after this my kids are still
Gonna make the grand.
Tony, you... And you
my worth
Yet my words are healing my peers and others
My spirit guide said imma natural healer
That's one of the reasons on here on this earth
See I
Am
Cojo Nation, are you ready?
Are you ready for real country music?
Cojo music and Warner Nashville, platinum recording artist
From Huntsville,
the artists you hear
You keep on thinking that artist is new but that artist has probably been at it for years
Yeah, in the back of my mind thinking
Am I
The ghetto, ghetto, g-ghetto
The ghetto, ghetto, g-ghetto
Oh my, oh
Oh my, oh
I was on the block right, wasn't in my right mind
Just a young
I’m gonna move to San Francisco
And watch all the hip young
Artists struggle with their rent
Ooh I’m gonna be one of them
I’m gonna find a pale
Black Thought speaks and makes crowd respond for a minute and 15 sec.*
[Black Thought]
Yo my definition is a lyricist for hire
My vocal's
Here to stay
Even when I'm gone
When I close my eyes
Through the passage of time
Kings never die
I can hear the drummer drumming
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
Rah Digga shirts on some big body chicks
Throw my s*** in your hoopty or your luxury trucks
And make the quickest turn around like 'dro for 20 bucks
ways,
I'm a simple man in love with you.
These are the gates of Eden,
Take my hand we'll walk on through.
Let's got back to Eden,
Don't make the garden
the air
I'm here, word to John Mayer
Body's a wonderland, my face is top tier
I swear, watch the ice glare
They be like, I'm Gucci, but don't shop there
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