
Z-FLO - I’m Alright ft. Marcus the Poet Z-FLO (Ft. Marcus the Poet)
На этой странице вы найдете полный текст песни "Z-FLO - I’m Alright ft. Marcus the Poet" от Z-FLO (Ft. Marcus the Poet). Lyrxo предлагает вам самый полный и точный текст этой композиции без лишних отвлекающих факторов. Узнайте все куплеты и припев, чтобы лучше понять любимую песню и насладиться ею в полной мере. Идеально для фанатов и всех, кто ценит качественную музыку.

Intro:
Yo, you know... life can make you feel like you're not gonna make it sometimes, you know?
Worst part of it is, life can be very persuasive..... yeah.
VERSE 1 (Z-FLO):
Yo
Glass breaks when I step in like Stone Cold,
On the track I eat these chickens 'til the bones cold,
I got my girl on hold,
She call me Pinocchio, 'cause when I lie on her, I get a long pole,
At my shows they know I'm ice cream cone cold,
And all of 'em screaming like I hit the wrong hole,
The NyQuil did the opposite of what the box told,
I'm super ill, got runny nose and a strong cold,
Kick back, keep a click-clack by the six pack,
Get that I spit that lit match, need a tic tac,
Sick track, got my bars together like a Kit Kat,
Get fat, bread and cheese stacked like a Big Mac,
I'm balling, to the three-pointer I lets it go,
And the only thing you dribble is your testicles,
PMS, messy flow, DJ spins like a merry-go
with bloody hands, looking around like, "Where did Mary go?"
Yo, you know... life can make you feel like you're not gonna make it sometimes, you know?
Worst part of it is, life can be very persuasive..... yeah.
VERSE 1 (Z-FLO):
Yo
Glass breaks when I step in like Stone Cold,
On the track I eat these chickens 'til the bones cold,
I got my girl on hold,
She call me Pinocchio, 'cause when I lie on her, I get a long pole,
At my shows they know I'm ice cream cone cold,
And all of 'em screaming like I hit the wrong hole,
The NyQuil did the opposite of what the box told,
I'm super ill, got runny nose and a strong cold,
Kick back, keep a click-clack by the six pack,
Get that I spit that lit match, need a tic tac,
Sick track, got my bars together like a Kit Kat,
Get fat, bread and cheese stacked like a Big Mac,
I'm balling, to the three-pointer I lets it go,
And the only thing you dribble is your testicles,
PMS, messy flow, DJ spins like a merry-go
with bloody hands, looking around like, "Where did Mary go?"
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