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Correct Jazzy Lyrics
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Artists: M
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Marc E. Bassy
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Correct Jazzy
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Song:
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Lyrics:
[Verse 1] I got tinted windows on my ride Baby what is it to you though People say I'm old school People say I'm true though Really I'm just who know Really I'm just new though Carrying my whole team I've never been a [?] though Trynna make change like titty boy The two chains Trynna ball out like Will Gates and hoop dreams Trynna ball out like Bill Gates, blue screens I've been doing this since Deon had on hoop rings Me and [?] drunk and of cocaine Mexicans homies getting at me "What's up with you, man?" I'm good everywhere Care about nothing If you know me well Then you probably call me cousin I speak for the betterment of people I looked up to the projects Yeah, that's some ironic shit Girl, I was raised in the Bay by my mom And shit, I did alright in school Sometimes I made the honorlist But, I'm finally doing what the homies all expect The real is on the rise You can bet your fucking neck Apache in this trigger happy world with a bow and arrow From this sweat on my back to my bone marrow My home pharaoh I'm so thorough I live out in the Brooklyn bro When I'm from the Bay Where everybody smoke the colour purple We pass it to the left and If they try to handle your dreams I say f them The point of this song If it had one would be I be back out my boys Drinking 40s [?] E Getting spliffed in the streets I probably piss on this tree Remember poetry class Thats where I turned into me And so they say Love from the westside to your spot 2013 over the hill Well we're [?] They call me Marc E Sometimes Marc is too fine Hit the nail right on the head But with the nuance Raised on that DooWop Sly, Stone and Drizzy Too real for the radio They ain't fucking with me [Hook] (And then it go) All the girls tell me that they love Count Bassy 1, 2, 3, 4, fuck you, pay me All the girls tell me that they love Marc E. Bassy 1, 2, 3, 4, fuck you, pay me All the girls tell me that they love Young Chachee 1, 2, 3, 4, fuck you, stop me All the girls tell me that they love Young Rippy Fuck you, pay me [Verse 2] I'm so fucking critical of my shit I don't need no [?] Give it all up Please don't be a fucking cockblock Blast off to Houston We got a fucking problem The captain of the ship is on one I will never down one But my girl be drinking from the fountain [?] she so bad But don't know how to come down Baby relax, we don't need a fucking condom All we need is money I think we can solve these problems My writing skills with this music shit are too good Like how some rappers get signed But don't make cause they too hood My category is no boxes Mandatory reefer, smoke [?] and [?] Every mil is a [?] Like every whip is a drop top Every sneaker is Chuck Taylor Baby are you coming to my [?] My hotel look like cock rock renaissance Bitches, weed, and drink Weed and thought provoking monologues Meditating naked on the hotel bed banking When I'm waking it's apparently a vacancy sign above my head They coming knocking But it's no-one home It's a jazzy beat on Hold on, let me write my song Aw-Yeah-Aw-Aw
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