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Masters of Illusion - We All Over lyrics
[Keith] kept in time at jail, robbery for six years [M.Man] you missed out on hella money, food, weed and beer [Keith] called home, stupid jacky never answer the phone [Keith] what you been doin' [M.Man] trying to concentrate on come-ups (Chorus) [M.Man] we all over [Keith] takin' over [M.Man] mic controller [Keith] high rollers [M.Man] north, east, south, west coast [Keith] throwin' bombs at you (Repeat 3X) [Motion Man] I threw the gat in the bac of his 'ac I wore gloves so my fingers wouldn't make contact it's either that or do time for this ? snatch f' that! partner take the rapper watch yo back and he's back, who's that, cadillac all black yo that's my folks young motion getting out with his yolks changing channels ? switching up to sopranos when they see us got'em caught up in a corner like fetus pop the trunk get yo stuff out switch the cars and move fast make 'em walk the plank the pirate's out here holding his shank you don't understand the time that you're doing for me just incase in clifton santiago out here for free whoa don't tell your partner we got to get it together no more domestic import people stuck out there in customs I don't trust a motha' bout as far as I can chuck 'em his bodyguard looks familiar, I'm recognizing the scar officers got us at gunpoint, they searchin' the car two chinese men trying to launder 'bout 500 grand they homosexuals, I leave the male pimp in the stand united states government officials look for the man santiago's got his pictures up in the post office 'cuz santiago is a ? last seen selling hash north, east, south west coast (Chorus 4X) [Kool Keith] I went to ralph's bought me chicken, my girl some spam drove in the block with a green fleetwood broham gold dayton rims with the diamonds on the edge and trims trunk full of heroine checkin' out the merroine two shotguns, grenades, rockets stashed under the seat l.a.p.d. took my license, but can't see me tinted windows, big powder, here's for your nose straight from miami, columbian, puerto rico immigrant right hand man nicknamed chico jamaican posse at the house drinkin' carlo's ?rossi? carbine 41 shot banana clip machine gun duffel bags, work my cuban west indian shirt callin' the feds up with private numbers tryin' to network official numbers in the stash glove compartment countin' bricks with incense in an empty apartment up on the fourth floor with lactose mixin' raw answer the door, stand behind it with a 44 some sucka named rell, kid rung the wrong bell shut up iesha! this girl tryin to blow my spot I gotta babysit I'm chillin' yo the block is hot transfer my ammo, throw techs in a hefty bag hit the street, I talk of sales when I meet (Chorus 4X) |
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