Інформація про пісню На цій сторінці ви можете ознайомитися з текстом пісні Headache & Heartbreak, виконавця - Lloyd Banks. Дата випуску: 30.10.2016
Вікові обмеження: 18+
Мова пісні: Англійська
Headache & Heartbreak |
| Fool dumb as the last nigga that got at me |
| Shot up with bags of D |
| Fresh out of LIU, welcome to Halloween Havoc 3 |
| Turning my mileage in, the last time you’re seeing me back for free |
| Blood in my writing pen, hype again, striking methodically |
| Honestly, can’t nobody see me |
| I’m in stealth form, champion |
| Kept the belt on, bodies for trampling, never felt for 'em |
| I don’t got the time to hate, let alone put the words together |
| At-ing niggas and never get at 'em, this is purging weather |
| Stack up on your surgeon cheddar |
| You’re rat and reptilian merged together |
| Folks know the fire, penned in disturbing letter |
| Giants stomping holes in these tracks, keeping the road crumbling |
| Opps don’t got no choice but falling back, uneasy souls hovering |
| Here’s the soundtrack for the riders, progress keeps the loads coming |
| Dollars won’t divide us, we’re back to the gold thugging |
| Flaunting armor through your airwaves, drown 'em in stereo |
| Wonder what took so long to spot 'em, these clowns took over years ago |
| Think so we’re done, I lied, I lost my mind |
| Product of heartbreak and the neighborhood never been the remorseful kind |
| Won’t see no handouts, you were forced to grind |
| Maybe you’re better off staying away, you’re, you cross the don |
| Make one mistake then knock you off your throne |
| I’m thinking, cutting and suffering, family hoping that you come back home |
| That man at work, don’t go disrupt his own |
| You on the wrong side of town for bitching, you belong with a sucker’s wrong |
| This time of year it’s hard to sleep, better bullets and trucks of red |
| Competition uncomfortable, this the month I play pumpkin head |
| Field kicking this shit for years, hop off on your disgruntled leg |
| Any contact from these punches fell, victims and knuckles bled |
| They tell you foul shit about me, don’t deliver it |
| Lee on the other hand woulda got into it for hearing it |
| Formed in the room of trauma, no silence for this experiment |
| Hands of a super doctor, high tolerance, I ain’t feeling shit |
| Anticipate reviews of my resume in the hottest summers |
| Look at what they push now, gimmicks and one hit wonders |
| Perform in an empty stu', fendi crew with the gun slid under |
| Lightening to your family room, disrespecting the son of thunder |
| Been here over nigga |
| So for stomping daily, snap a monster picture |
| Blue and black from New York City’s hardest hitter |
| Problem baby, born guerrilla |
| Panic charms a killer |
| Chipped shoulder for soldiers that took me for granted, bombs delivered |
| Think so we’re done, lost my mind |
| Product of heartbreak and the neighborhood never been the remorseful kind |
| Won’t see no handouts, you were forced to grind |
| Maybe you’re better off staying away, you’re, you cross the don |
| Make one mistake then knock you off your throne |
| I’m thinking, cutting and suffering, family hoping that you come back home |
| That man at work, don’t go disrupt his own |
| You on the wrong side of town for bitching, you belong with a sucker’s wrong |