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Viewing Lyrics for H-O-S-T-Y-L-E:

Artist:Screwball
No album artwork found
Album:Assorted
Track:H-O-S-T-Y-L-E
 
Date Added:27/04/2015
Rating:not yet rated     
Views:2
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Lyrics:[Intro]
That's right ugh, check it out
Back in tha days where tha people were fresh

It was one mc who had to pass tha test
He was down by law, and he's ready to play
That's
right yawl, it's hostyle today

[Verse 1]
Yo yo, yo
Woke up in tha morning and
my eggs was part
Turned on tha b--b toob saw tha million man march
Tha cops in dc, had to
play scared
Gotta a, warn in plans looking at tha quaters of france
Ants in my pants so i
dips in tha door
Picked up tha keys, caught a telephone call
She yelling bones in my
sounds swell
I'm like why can't, a brother can't rise up
All i'm hearing is clobbers, hung
up
Lighted some b--ter, wu tighten my gutter
Shouted lover, to those hungry
Put holes
in they clothes
b--ch n---as throwing weak s--t in tha game
On tha streets, smoking dough
and leak on tha heap

[Chorus]
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha drug pushers and face
mushers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(throw ya henny in tha sky)

H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha bread winners, tha money getters)
Those them types that f--k wit
me
(lets get this m-o-n-e-y)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha henny guzzelers, and tha henny
huzzelers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(this is serious b-i)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e

(tha thug chicks who loved it)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(lets get this money till
we die)

[Verse 2]
Climax a vocal, like tha local weed spot
Dime bags i go
through, i'm at tha penical of smoke signals
Tree's in a tight squeeze, night breeze
For i
blow hair might freeze, somebody give me a light please
Matter fact i got matches i strike
these don
Son where you coming from, vernon fourty one
Here ya shorty come, know she
calling me for what
She ignoring me, unless she h---y and i got some trojans on me
I just
stop start smiling, hands on her hips posing for me
I limped over wit laughter
Told me to
meet me a qauter after three, and smacker her on tha aaa cheek
Ghetto thug classy, if you ask
me, if you ask me

[Chorus]
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha drug pushers and face
mushers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(throw ya henny in tha sky)

H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha bread winners, tha money getters)
Those them types that f--k wit
me
(lets get this m-o-n-e-y)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha henny guzzelers, and tha henny
huzzelers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(this is serious b-i)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e

(tha thug chicks who loved it)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(lets get this money till
we die)

[Bridge]
To all dem types that f--k wit me
For qb and so on, tha hyrdro
crew
Mike heron, jerry familar
And my enginer, max zzzzz (zzzzz zzzzz)
Mo greens
baby
To my man untouchable violence, what up
This our dudes, prince from pa rule
Yeah
to tha mobb deep, and to tha infamous mobb
That's right, girl j nicky brown
To my three
kids, get down baby
Yeah, it's on, fredrick and my man calito
What, to all my people,
ugh
Tha who hand clique, terrific mud explicit

[Chorus]
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha
drug pushers and face mushers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(throw ya henny in tha
sky)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha bread winners, tha money getters)
Those them types that f--k
wit me
(lets get this m-o-n-e-y)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e
(tha henny guzzelers, and tha henny
huzzelers)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(this is serious b-i)
H-o-s-t-y-l-e

(tha thug chicks who loved it)
Those them types that f--k wit me
(lets get this money till
we die)

*fading out*
 


More Screwball Lyrics:

1.   No Exceptions  view
2.   Biz Interlude  view
3.   H-O-S-T-Y-L-E  view
4.   Who Shot Rudy?  view
5.   Y2K  view
6.   On the Real  view
7.   You Love to Hear the Stories  view
8.   Zoning  view
9.   Communications  view
10.   Take It There  view
11.   H-O-S-T-L-E  view

Related Lyrics:
zappa_frank_road_ladies

Don't it ever get lonesome?
yeah!
sure gets lonesome
Don't it ever get sad when you
go out on the road?
oh, there was one time in Minneapolis.. when I thought I had the
clap
for sure
Don't it ever get lonesome?
whoa-ho!
lonesome ain't the word
Don't it
ever get sad when you go out on a thirty day tour?

You got nothing but groupies and
promotors to love you
and a pile of laundry by the hotel door.

Don't it ever get
lonesome?
Don't it ever give a young man the blues?

Don't it ever get
lonesome?
Don't it ever make a young man wanna go back home?

When the P.A. system
eats it,
And the band plays some of the most terrible s--t you've ever
known.


Don't you ever miss your house in the country
and your hot little mamma
too?

Don't you ever miss your house in the country
and your hot little mamma
too?

Don't you better get a shot from the doctor for what the
Road Ladies do to
you.

I know someday I will never,
I'll never go out on the road again.

I
know someday I will never,
I ain't gonna roam the country side. No more.

I'm gonna
hang up little holidays yeah
and heal my knees up, from when I was doing on the call
See
me doing it!
See me doing on the call

Don't you ever miss your house in the
country
and your hot little mamma too?

Don't you ever miss your house in the
country
and your hot little mamma too?

Don't you better get a shot from the doctor
for what the
Road Ladies do to you

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