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Timbaland - People Like Myself - текст песни, видео

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Timbaland - People Like Myself - текст песни, видео

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[chorus: timbaland]

People like myself, only hang with self cause thats the way to go

I cant go outside without findin some new kinfolks

People on my left, people on my right, all in my earhole

Make be like whoa and find me somewhere else to go

[repeat chorus]


Its mag from your tv screen, buzzin off the jim beam

But the mag yall think yall know aint what I seem

Im a low-down freak from seapeak(? )

See them high school mates, I see em and dont speak

All yall wanna talk like we used to hang

Cause Im doin my thang, now you wanna bask in my fame

Thats why I stay out the club, be in the crib

Smokin a dub, countin my cash, over the phone

And Im sellin cell phones, all with chips

My nine to bloods, my glock to crips, who want war? 

You and your boys can bring the noise

But ima bring hand grenades, now youre laid!

Pull out my dick, piss on your bitch-ass

Sit on your face, now you gotta kiss ass

Who fiend for fame life belong to your fans

And haters and thugs that wanna end your lifespan



Uhh, uhh, uhh - since I got bigger (bigger)

Im over here and yall recite tims my nigga (nigga)

Like I just figure (figure)

And my tracks didnt help niggaz

So for rememdy I pound niggaz

Like I keep em in djs for that new jigga

Like them forty-two girbauds

I pocket every demo, like timbaland - hes that next nigga

Confirmed by people that she can blow

Convinced booker t shes the next to go

Now Im checkin every joint and every unit I sold

Once Im deep in the dough, Im deep with a crew

In the 80s yall screamed like the movie is through

Yall screamin this is "nutty professor: part ii"

To "eyes wide shut" to whoever I choose

I can appreciate a kidman to a, tom cruise

To a, fast food, Im strictly drive-through

The money I gave dudes I basically raised fools



Even the phone spit it, God know what Im thinkin

Im drinkin and smokin and stressin, go to church for confession

Down on my knees, beggin to god, show me the path

My label is jerkin me workin me so the devil can lurk in me

Sick of niggaz bitchin, wishin Id fail

Tell em mag be the rap effin kenan and kel

Im spittin the version of verses curses over the churches

Rappin mo iller than thriller manila and give you salmonella


Stop, the press!

Bitch, you cant afford that dress, you cant afford that hairdo

I dont want your sex, here take your fast food

"tim youre dead wrong, tim youre dead rude!"

Hey girl, I dont even know you

"timbaland were your first cousin marion sue"

My momma never ever mentioned you

My momma also told me to watch them savage boos, what? 

[chorus: sung by static - repeat 2x]
Добавлено: 03.02.2014
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