Cam' Ron Feat. Jadakiss - Lets Talk About It (Prod. By AraabMuzik) | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Cam' Ron Feat. Jadakiss
• Lets Talk About It (Prod. By AraabMuzik)

[Verse 1: Cam'ron}
Call the doctor up, the jewels sick
Front get confronted, the tools grip
My gun stay long like a pool stick
I don't need it, I could kill em with a toothpick
Like a bad hand, no prob. folding em
Make em a golf course, 18 holes in em
Like a Jamaican shirt, 28 grams I could make it work
Straight to work, like amber stay alert
'Fore I creep up behind you
Won't see me coming like the swine flu, huh... times two
Remind you I'm way way worse
Like the FK, AK, trey 8 first
I tell mami \"ohh display your purse\"
Treat my dick like a sprite obey your thirst
Walk in the weed spot, Louie shirt, g-shock
Lennox Ave to d-block, we hot... oowww

[Verse 2: Cam'ron]
My mom had 3 strokes, fell hard
No sympathys, flowers, get well cards
All swell god, no lost love Ak
She driving again, put her in soft spot
Gotta thank Tito Poppin, off top
Got her medicine, vicodins, cough drop
Now I'm back out, niggas jaw drop
Girls draws drop, glass say fuck em all ock
Hit em hard rocks, right in they soft spot
January 2nd until the ball drop
I don't lobby for more props, I'm something that ya'll not
Porsche hot, out in the ball park
The faucet leaking, I don't play with leaks
Song get played early, break his teeth
I'm a fuck the nigga up that made this beat
Two piece, dope fiend, straight to sleep

[Verse 3: Jadakiss]
I'm a keep it a hundred, these niggas don't want it
Either a head shot or a bullet to the stomach
If you live, you'll never fully recover from it
If you die, we gon pop bottles 'til we vomit
And nah, we don't wear diamonds, we roc comets
My money came illegally, fuck it at least I'm honest
Finally bout to leave all the bullshit behind us
So right now death is the only thing I can promise
40's and the lamas, we hitting everything except the shorties in pajamas
Shooting in the Miami heat, like Chalmers
Slugs make you feel like you rocking leather bombers
Somebody call the coroners, I'm a hustler did numbers in the drought
You at your moms crib for the summer on the couch
A lot of niggas suck, nothing to figure out
They put themselves in the hole, want you to dig em out

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