Kanye West - New God Flow Lyrics (Ft. Pusha T)

New God Flow Lyrics by Kanye West Ft. Pusha T

[Pusha T] (Kanye West)
I believe there’s a god above me
I’m just the god of everything else
I put hoes in everything else
New God Flow, fuck everything else
Supreme dope dealer, write it in bold letters
They love a nigga’s spirit like Pac at the Coachella
They said Pusha aint fit with the umbrella
But I was good with the Yay as a wholesaler
I think it’s good that Ye got a blow dealer
A hot temper, matched with a cold killer
I came up more, for more than just to rhyme with him
Think ’99, when Puff woulda had Shyne with him
(Matching Daytonas, rose gold on us)
Going ham in the ? done took a toll on us
(But since you over do it, I’mma pour more)
Well if you goin’ coupe, I’m going 4 door

[Hook]
Shake that body, party that body
Come and have a good time with G-O-D.

[Pusha T]
Step on they necks till they can’t breathe
Claim they 5 stars but sell you dreams
They say death multiplies by three’s
Lined them all up and lets just see
Fuck ‘em ‘Ye, fuck ‘em ‘Ye
I wouldn’t piss on that nigga with Grand Marnier
They shoulda shopping in target
My shit is luxury Balmain
I’m ballin’, I’m all red
A nick sold in the park then I want in
Whats a king without a crown nigga
Whats a circus without you clown niggas
Whats a brick from an outta town nigga
When you flood and you can drown niggas
It’s the GOOD music golden child
M-A-Dollar sign aint nobody hold me down

[Kanye West]
Hold up, I ain’t tryna stunt man
But the Yeezy’s jumped over the jumpman
Went from most hated to the champion God flow
I guess that’s a feeling only me and Lebron know
I’m living 3 dreams, Biggie Smalls, Dr. King, Rodney Kings
Uh, cause we can’t get along, no resolution
Till we drown all these haters, rest in peace to Whitney Houston
Cars, money, girls and the clothes
Aww man, you sold your soul
Nah man, mad people was frontin’
Aww man, made something from nothing
Picture working so hard and you cant cut through
That can mess up your whole life, like the uncle that touched you
What has the world come to?
I’m from the 312, where cops don’t come through, and dreams don’t come true
Like where did God go, in his Murcielago
From working McDonalds, barely paying the car note
He even got enough to get his mama a condo
Than they ran up and shot him right in front of his mom
40 killings in a weekend, 40 killings in a week
Man the summer too hot you can feel it in the street
Welcome to Sunday service if you hope that Sunday service
We got green in my eyes, follow this Eric Sermon
Did Moses not part the water with the cane
Did strippers not make an arc when I made it rain
Did Yeezy not get signed by Hov and Dame
Ran to Jacob’s and made the new Jesus Chains
In Jesus name, let the choir say
I’m on fire ayy, that’s what Richard Pryor Say
And we annihilate anybody that violate
Ask any dopeboy you know, they admire Ye’

GOOD Music, GOOD Music, GOOD Music, GOOD Music
And all my niggas say GOOD Music
And all my ladies say GOOD Music
I don’t know but I’ve been told
I don’t know but I’ve been told
If you get fresh get all the hoes
If you get fresh get all the hoes
I’m way fresher than all my foes
I’m way fresher than all my foes
Somebody please pick out they clothes
Somebody please pick out they clothes
And all my niggas say GOOD Music
And all my ladies say GOOD Music
Who run this shit today: GOOD Music
Who run this shit today: GOOD Music

Birdman - Born Stunna (Remix) Lyrics (Ft. Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj & Lil Wayne)

Born Stunna (Remix) Lyrics by Birdman Ft. Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj & Lil Wayne

[Intro: Rick Ross]
Born stunna
I’m a born stunna
Huh born stunna

(Remix Baaaaby)

Money money money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags

[Hook: Rick Ross]
Born stunna, born stunna
Flip a hundred keys just to ball all summer
Born stunna, born stunna
I put a hundred karats in the cartier mama
Born stunna, she’s a born stunna
Mercedes coup for the missus if she’s a born stunna
Born stunna, born stunna
Stack a hundred mill and another hundred comin’

[Nicki Minaj]
Born stunna flow
Consistently winning while all you bitches come and go
Oh you mad? You aint headline
You my son and it’s bedtime
I show you bitches how to put together punchlines
It aint working out, it aint crunchtime
Roll a ? up, it’s a chess game, but fuck a Pusha
Out in Tokyo they calling me Nicki-son
Everywhere you go, they calling you Nicki’s son
Coupes and trucks, money bags, Scrooge McDuck

[Hook: Rick Ross]

Money money money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags

[Birdman]
Yea, a lot a lot of money bags
The money in the garbage can
Strapped up tight with a hundred bags
Money filthy bitch, we in the money lair
See, we shinin’ like the money can
Since the money came, bitch we throw the money thang
Yea, YMCMG
Lauder Jet been a hustla since I hit the streets
2-50 on the new piece
New condo, 20 thousand square feet
Ballin’, uptown suicide
Born stuntin’, strapped how we livin’ fine

[Hook: Rick Ross]

Money money money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags

[Lil Wayne]
I don’t know bout these other, but I’m gettin’ Trukfit money
And I aint never number 2,s o you aint gettin’ shit from me
And you know I’m a boss, so catch me if you can
Blood, I leave a ? bleeding like that nigga got cramps
I got molly, got mary, got white girl, got Keisha
Used to have Trina but I still got nina
Bitch I’m too cold, I’m too coke
I put ya neck in my loophole
I’m too hot, I’m sup’bowl
My money talk, my new bowl
I’m high Jupiter, Pluto
But everybody know I’m from Mars
Keep hatin’, gone make me catch another gun charge
I’m on that good good, floating like Aladdin
Born stunna, stuntin’ like my daddy

[Hook]

Money money money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags
Money money money bags

Blur - Cowboy Song Lyrics

Cowboy Song Lyrics by Blur

Gonna sail a bird like a private jet
You’re the one, you’re the one
In my head, oughta get us clear
You’ll find a song before too long

I’ve got a healthy feeling, a sleepy feeling, a sleepy feeling
Today is gone, the day is gone, today is gone

Go to a store, to the golf floor
A cowboy’s song, a cowboy’s song
You’re the one, you’re the one
A cowboy’s song, you’re the one

I’ve got a healthy feeling, a sleepy feeling, a sleepy feeling
It’s all gone, today is gone, it’s all gone

I’ve got a sleepy feeling, a new slept feeling, a sleepy feel
It’s all gone, today is gone, today is gone

Chris Brown - Cali Swag Lyrics

Cali Swag Lyrics by Chris Brown

(Chris Brown)
Yeah my swagger’s like Uh in the DOMINO at that
Swathy sending text and she fellin’ me lemme forward that
To my other girl,now she say she wanna meet her
A nigga going in like a quarter in a meter
So come on,

I don’t give a damn if she rollin’ then I’m rollin’
I ain’t talking ’bout appeal, but she pop it like she own it
Her continuous moaning, it carries to the morning
And teach her like a stick, so I’m calling it T-boning

My girl got a girlfriend, so you know what it is
I call them daycare, ’cause they take care of my kids
Ah, bring the camera out of motion picture
Before you take your clothes off, let me get the liquor

Nigga I’m ill, oh believe that
Her titties like snowballs , call them sky racks
They be like Hulk Hogan,ain’t no one in team
I tell them ,fuck you, nigga it’s me

What it is, how you doin’ nice to meet you
My flow is just like bullets
So this beat will be my nina
That traver go bow, it split you from your feet up

I got your girl wet, flooding like Katrina
Rather Billy or Bima,Fatima of Christina
Milly Yang I’mma done, I’m getting right between her
I’m strip club ballin’ throwing franklins like Aretha

She said her mouth dry, so I’m guessing it’s the refull
Whole team gorillaz, K Mack and Joe
Cali swag nigga, I ain’t talking doggie do
It’s reject nigga, have you breaking all the rules

Your my catdaddy, check on TMZ it’s breaking news
My car lot, jackpot,got these girls cheering like a mascot
Boy you ask that, ’cause I’m hot
I’m mad,all you singles neck like an ascot

I’m on the top hold your hair tip
When they hear the fame drop, they gon’ shit a brick
No pun intended, but I recommand it
Fuck your feelings nigga, I don’t care if you offended

Rick Ross - Hold Me Back Lyrics

Hold Me Back Lyrics by Rick Ross

[Intro]
I see how these niggas playin’
But I could adapt
These niggas won’t hold me back (x8)
These hoes won’t hold me back
These hoes won’t hold me back
These niggas won’t hold me back
These niggas won’t hold me back

[Verse 1]
I look in my fridge, my shit lookin’ scarce
I got a few kids, we need some shit on the shelf
I get a knock at the door, they say my rent overdue
And while my niggas sell dope and don’t know what else to do
The only thing on my mind, I’m tryin’ to keep on the lights
I call up my slime, I need a kilo tonight
Everything whipped well, I’m eatin’ steak, no more soup
Then I parked the Capri, I went and bought me a Coupe
Everything takes time, but this shit came fast
Niggas standin’ in line, they wanna hold me back
I multiplied my hustle, stimulated my mind
Motivated my niggas and we’ll never divide, no

[Hook]
These niggas won’t hold me back (x4)
These hoes won’t hold me back
These hoes wanna hold me back (x3)
Noooo

[Verse 2]
First I got me a Taurus, then I copped me a Lexus
I took over Florida, my connect out of Texas
Then I start sippin’ purple, got my shit screwed
When you feedin’ your circle, watch your shipments improve
Fabricate ’bout your fortune, all my fabric’s imported
Fornicate in my fortress, 40k still my mortgage
24k my toilet, all my taxes reported
All my exes deported, shout-out Texas, New Orleans
All these niggas influenced by a hustler’s endurance
I just me the purest, but I need some insurance
Niggas watch who you fuckin’ just to hate on your bitches
Niggas breakin’ the rules, niggas facin’ suspicion

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Momma workin’ three jobs ’til I told her to quit
How we rose from the sewer, funny now I’m the shit
Niggas ain’t gettin’ money, but they got an opinion
Had this tech makin’ racket, serve you like you were tennis
Killers ride for that paycheck, AK okay, check
Bitch nigga let’s play chess, yo bitch next, no latex
These niggas won’t hold me back, told the feds they sold me set
Whip ‘em right and then come right back
Whip-whip-whip ‘em right and then come right back

[Hook] x2

[Verse 4]
Pussy ass niggas, pussy ass niggas
They all pussy ass niggas, pussy ass niggas
Lookin’ down on these niggas, pussy ass niggas
Pushin’ my new Ferrari on these pussy ass niggas
Pussy hoe, pussy hoe
She a pussy hoe until she give me pussy hoe
Pussy hoe, pussy hoe
Pussy hoe, she a pussy hoe

[Hook] x2

Nas - Loco-Motive Lyrics (Ft. Large Professor)

Loco-Motive Lyrics by Nas Ft. Large Professor

[Intro]
42nd street terminal

[Verse 1: Nas]
Yo, yo, I live it and I speak it
My religion is reefer
Big money in most, an uninhibited freak to sleep with
My visions are realistic, nothing’s figurative
I can wish it into existence, God want this nigga to live
Blunt big as a dread, I get high and forget who bled
Who we stomp-kicked in the head and who we left for dead
Who are you niggas? Why argue niggas?
The truth is the truth, I really put my scars on niggas
They wait a lifetime, they tell they hoes, “Nas did this”
Pointin’ to they scars like, “Right here, baby, really Nas did this”
Like a badge of honor, not braggin’ I’m just honest
War stories we tell them, nothin’s realer than karma
Sip prohibition liquor, prohibition whiskey
Rap Jack Demsey, Matt Black Bentley, pimply
Shatterin’ your silence, pass around the chalice
Due to my Indian ancestry at the weed dispensery
Official kings and gents is who I mix and mingle with
Fuck your ice, I rock rubies, amethyst
I fuck your wife cause she a groupie, scandalous
This for my bad hood bitches, ghetto glamorous

[Break: Large Professor]
Yo, what we talkin’ ’bout niggas?
What we talkin’ ’bout niggas?
This is Nas, what, Nas
What, Nasty, what, recollect,

[Verse 2: Nas]
At seventeen I made seventeen thousand livin’ in public housin’
Integrity in tact, reppin’ hard
They askin’ how he disappear and reappear back on top
Sayin’, “Nas must have naked pictures of God or somethin’”
To keep winnin’ is my way like Francis
As long as I’m breathin’, I’ll take chances
A soldier comin’ home, twenty years old with no legs
Sayin’ there’s no sense to cry and complain, just go ‘head
So much to write and say, yo I don’t know where to start
So I’ll begin with the basics and flow from the heart
I know you think my life is good cause my diamond piece
But my life been good since I started finding peace
I shouldn’t even be smilin’, I should be angry and depressed
I been rich longer than I been broke, I confess
I started out broke, got rich, lost paper then made it back
Like Trump bein’ up down up, play with cash

[Large Professor]
My nigga’s like a locomotive
Nas, we push it, mush ‘em
Queensbridge to Bushwick
Harlem, Bronx, all that
You ain’t even supposed to be out here
You know where you at?

Verse 3: Nas]
At night, New York, eat a slice too hot
Use my tongue to tear the skin hangin’ from the roof of my mouth
Shit was Falicimo, melted pot, city sweltering hot
Staggerin’ drunker than those cops that 2pac shot
I was a crook by the train with that iron thing, concealed
Reachin’, soon as I heard them iron wheels screechin’
When it came to a halt whoever walked off got caught
Toker man safe behind a locked door for sure
Minor theif shit, minor league shit, beastin’
Lookin’ for the young, but now we older chiefin’
In my truck, play The Greatest Adventures of Slick Rick
Buggin’ on how his imagination was so sick
It’s ghetto beef, sinister niggas snicker through yellow teeth
Alchohol agin’ my niggas faster than felonies
How dare I? Must be, somethin’ in the air that corrupts me
Look at my upkeep, owned and sublease
I’m here y’all

[Outro]
This for my trapped in the 90′s niggas
For my trapped in the 90′s niggas
Ha, for y’all niggas

The Game - Pop That (Freestyle) Lyrics

Pop That (Freestyle) Lyrics by The Game

[Intro]
Hey Walle, get on the phone man, call that nigga Meek Mill
Tell that nigga Meek Mill get on the phone call that nigga Boss
Tell Boss get on the phone, call that nigga French Montana man
Tell this nigga let me hold this beat too man, lego

Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop

Uncle Luke, you better that hoe,
I’m the shit bitch and I know you smell that hoe
Beat the pussy I swoll that hoe
Lick the cat and it ain’t … hoe
Cops be easy never wear that dope
You from the Kim Cain nigga share that hoe
Reall nigga everywhere I go
You got one, you better mad that hoe
She got a fat monkey, a camel toe
She a meenie and she call me daddyo
She like it from the back, no paddy oh
I’m from the …to her daddy know
I’m fresh as fuck, no flat top
I got sit flops in that black drop
I got green things in my backpack
I’m thugging, welcome back Pac
I’m a mac nigga, no laptop
My bitch ass fat and no ass shots
She get motivated when that cans drop
Don’t call my bitch no stripper nigga
She’s an exotic dancer to twerk when you tip her, nigga
Amber Rose ain’t got nothing on my life
Made in good, ain’t got nothing on china
And I ain’t no tiger, I ain’t no tiger
Made in good, ain’t got nothing on china
Shit Japan ain’t got nothing on china
Wish that was me, nothing on china
Damn, there I go again
I ain’t tryna start nothing by speaking nothing on china
Don’t stop, popping that, she pick it up and she dropping it
I like red bones a little chocolate
And I’m asap with that rocket list
And I’m swagging and splashing and fucking these hoes
I’m blowing that kush and it’s stucked in my clothes
They blowing my dick for that nothing they knows
These niggas they know they can’t fuck with the flow
My mind be as cold, my bitches are hot
We walk in the club, she sneak in the Glock
We turning it up, off of peach and Sirock
With bottles and bottles
Like when does it stop?
With models and models they known to be fucking
She say she a virgin I know that she bluffing
I’m not gonna stuff…
I turn on the oven and whoaaa!!!

Coke boy I like home boy
I got a gold impala like gold boy
Twerking it, working it
Like waffle house I’m serving it
They play with it, I’m murking shit
… you square niggas with your circle head
And you don’t stop, what you twerking with
And you don’t stop, what you twerking with
And you don’t stop, what you twerking with
And you don’t stop, what you twerking with

Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop
Pop that, don’t stop, pop that don’t stop.