Your Old Droog – Bangladesh (feat. Heems)

person Cuslifolder_openNexusaccess_time August 12, 2017

I’m all disheveled the stress levels is high
Or on the voicemail like John Tesh
But I dust myself off, rocking my apparel
Offshore accounts in Dubai with habibi (my guy)
[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
You know my steelo
She said "Heemy you can’t see me why you such a meany for?"

The old head dropped gems in the yard like Mr. Feeny
Bank off the city, hit the bank, cop a CD (I’m high)
You herbs was playing Pokemon, chasing Charizard
Still came in this lock, stock, and barrel
I peeped the scenery, sipping green tea
Couldn’t see me in the flesh
My bars is hard, my girl went to Barbizon
And I ain’t even ahead, thieving for bread
Bangladesh
Check my closet, see Lo like 3 dice
As I try to make sense of the time that whizzed by
I’ve been yelling, I’ve been screaming, I’ve been kicking, I’ve been crying
With the raw and Bobby Brown jaw
They paying when I’m flying
[Verse 2: Heems]
I’m Fellini eating fettuccine at the mini-mall
So I should probably keep it quiet
Mama tried to punk me, dump me, jump me
If you don’t know anything, know that YOD nice
At 16 my slang was fresh
About the selling and the buying
It’s Himachu – fuck a Pikachu or a Charizard
You’re better off silent like Depeche

[Sean Price Voicemail Outro]
Tranquilo since Jordan made The Shot on Ehlo
The terrible son chronicles and cock-blocking perils
Former cokeheads like Doc and Darryl
Funky fresh cold medina hot sexy punkie
Cause I kept it hundred since 21 and Jump Street
With Santini, Houdini in a zucchini-colored Lamborghini
Put the bars together like a restaurateur provocateur
If my melanin could talk and tell you what the brown saw
Used to be virile ‘fore the ‘ports made me sterile
Whipping in that beany 4-door like you on city hall
Only whip low-key: Miata or Sonata
Twenty Bangladeshis with me, ’bout to start a riot
Now I’m pulling up to Leanly
Why did the brown pour, the feds probably ’round y’all
While I was making sure every bar is hard
Now I’m in Tahiti with a queen like Nefertiti (she fly)
Saw my looks dilapidate at a rapid rate
Bandit with a candle lit, grieving the dead, I said

Thought I did the rap shit in vain like a junky
Out in Long Island, why you don’t come to the city for?
But, you know, you might not wanna do it, you know – call me back and tell me "You know what, get the fuck outta here, fuck Sean P." Or, or you might call with, "hey, Sean this is the best record I’ve heard in my life, man. I’mma need a verse from you home skillet. Classic man, it’s Sean P. I’m honored to get on it." Or you know, "Fuck is this guy Sean P?", whatever
You can’t see me ’cause my face between her titties (that’s why)

I would not tire, spitting hot fire in the sesh
Just hit me back classic man
We move that product for the Prada

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