Paroles de la chanson Hungry par Common

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Paroles de la chanson Hungry par Common

Yo, niggas don't want none of this
Niggas know they can't fuck with this
Turn this shit up just a little more

I walk the night in rhyming armor, bomb a nigga like a winter coat
Have him on Death Row searching for an Interscope
Yet I sparkle like Irene Cara
Symbolize dope, like sirens do terror
Mary Lou just had a baby someone else decapitated
Flashbacks of past raps make me so glad I made it
Players is getting traded
I drop a gem on, them who's style is jaded
My juice is grated
Shit is so banging niggas say it's gang related
On philosopher's rink of thought, I've skated with precision
Crews is getting split like decisions
Com'a let it ride and collision
Vision like Coleco or intele, I battle stars in stellar
Regions, my thought scheme was my like my offspring
Now, it's teething
My reason to rhyme applies to season and time
Seizing the mind, body and regions divine
In mom's cookouts, I'm leaving the swine
Verbal vegetarian, squash beef with Ice Cube
Came in this rap life nude
Now I'm fully clothed with flows
You tricks can't hide behind expensive cars and clothes
Old niggas I expose like Luke does hoes in videos
With classic material, imperial and rugged like
Got mag, but my slugs a mic
You fake like a smile, like a hug I'm tight
Skip ladies, this is rip a muthafucka night
Auricle air-outs, niggas don't even run for cover right
Downtown interracial lovers hold hands
I breathe heavy like an old man, with a cold can of Old Style
Hold a Stone Isle profile
Mix between Malcolm X and Sef when I go wild
Hold mics like a second nut until the second coming
Humming coming towards you with power like forwards do
Hip hop, you my bitch and like a Ford, I'm exploring you
Some wack niggas be cool, with them I stay cordial
Flow at room temperature, cats is presumed miniature
Like golf, soft like Tiger Woods
At real nigga angles I've stood with ways that's geometric
Don't need to rob banks with dyke broads to set it
I levitate to the occasion, lounge like a lyricist
Rhyme wise, you a rest haven
You sat by the door spooked like I was Wes Craven
You need to do more deleting and less saving
A praise in hell, raising heaven
As the bill on my pager leavens
What you should have known from day one
You will on day seven

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