Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Front Porch, artista - Twista.
Data di rilascio: 24.09.1998
Limiti di età: 18+
Linguaggio delle canzoni: inglese
Front Porch |
On the porch, on the porch |
Smokin weed |
Hmmm yeah |
I woke up early Saturday morning sick off Rhemy and brews |
Wit a hang over from blues |
Hurl on my clothes and shoes stomach on wooz |
From this killer weed that’s so fired it made your nose bleed |
I had me so high, my brain was fried movin at slow speed |
This thick bitch chose me and was stickin like liquor |
She look to tight that bodies right my heart and mind was like «;Dick her»; |
But wit my body aching from hurl sensation that’s got me shaken |
I swiftly took the number and passed on ass that was for the taken |
I remember wakin up at the flat fucked up in the back |
Checkin on my weed and scratch I damn near fell out the lat |
I hit the sack to sleep it off woke up woozy and still smoking |
Twista’s wishes thinking about last night and the bitch that was scopin |
Fuck it lets get 'em on I grabbed the phone «;Girl call your friends»; |
Then I hit Twista and Maze and them bout the bitch in the Benz |
Nigga push only cause I see them already been in the block |
You know the lit niggas you’ll find us in my favorite spot |
And that’s on |
The front porch smoking reefa |
The weed got 'em feelin umm hmm |
On the front porch getting deeper |
Ghetto love got 'em feelin, umm hmm yeah yeah |
In the summer I hit the front porch wit a morning B |
Sippin on the duce duce OZ |
And I be killin me how many thick fees I see |
Getting bubbly waitin for Stokes and T, I spit a little game at three |
Tryin to talk up on the shoppin spree |
Or a B of that stinky green free |
Straight getting, to puff puff pass |
and drive up my gas hittin all the hot blocks |
Bumpin «;Legit Ballers»; to «;Rock Y’all Spot»; |
Everybody know the shit 'bout to drop |
See from Northbound to Ten Row in it go tryin to get they props |
Pollutin the air wit squares, blunts, and tops |
Settin up shops for lots comin back nots |
Each and everyday of the week |
the Mobsta Elites be on somebody porch dumpin heat |
Bustin flows in the cipher getting deep |
While we cheat something sweet to Legendary beats |
'Till we reached our peak |
Scummy aloud attractin crowds to the street |
Then it’s time to retreat grab something to eat |
And head to the late front to get up wit some freaks |
Wit a treat under the seat |
For the cats who get the sudden urge and wanna try to jack |
Cause when your pockets is fat |
It seems like all the haters and hood-rats want to attack |
And when the park close we hit the liquor store |
for a box of Sitches and a fifth of Yak |
South on the corner and get a few sacks |
Or betta yet the whole pack so we can get back |
On the |
One morning I |
Woke up next to a choclate fee and a red bone |
My dick was hard I started stroking and poking |
After toppin I tell them to role the blunt |
Cause on the front I hear them niggas steady smoking and jokin |