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    RZA »

    RZA Break Bread текст песни

    Break Bread

    From: mack10 mack10@amik.ru

    [Intro - Jammie Sommers] (RZA):
    Yo, yeah yeah, yo what?
    (Gotta spit on these bitches real quick)
    Yea, Jammie Sommers bring the thunder, what?
    (Word up, doo-doo stain bitches)
    Yo, yo, uh-huh, yo..
    [Jammie Sommers]
    Yo save John Bennett, trauma John Bell
    Lace stay in my equality, mic oddessey
    Judy Plum, ghetto tag on the drum
    Nestle in the glass, I was plunged, double-edged tongue
    Pearly handle, scroll Brooklyn, we bouncin, commercial keep lookin
    Pussy tight ginger, turn rough cats to cringers
    Make him surrender is car and legal tender
    Sunshine on time, manifest all time ‘tween beams
    because I study all true reality, sculpted by my Wallabees
    Study righteous God Degree, yo..

    [Both]
    We Break Bread and deal with equality

    [RZA]
    Yo check it, my break and deal with this son
    Explicit lyrical orgy, you bitches smell like dead foggy hoe
    While Jammie splash you with the bottle of Giorgio
    or Chanel’s No. 5, dog bitch you can’t survive
    You buy and shoot some straw ride, ya tried to glide on B.O.B.B.Y.
    Jammie Sommers, treat her like my daughter, real niggaz wanna fuck her
    Pass a quart of milk, crab, clam, possum, wild flower blossomin
    Power-U, have you gaspin for your oxygen
    Gold bra straps, fine pointed, purple star Gaps
    Cowboy boots and tastle, with the straw hat
    You derelict hoes, we fuck y’all without pullin down our clothes
    While your nigga wish to lick Jammie Sommers’ toes
    Imaginate, you best to go home son and masturbate
    or put your ten dollars up and buy the fat tape

    [Jammie Sommers]
    Yo, a hundred thousand, two hundred and fifty cash
    Yo now, watch Miss Sommers, shake that ass
    Yo, you love the way my brother splash
    Chain reaction keep you puzzled
    Mouth muscle, card shuffle, belt buckle
    Jammie S’ll never kiss ass after I close a deal
    You best to believe this rap shit I say is for real
    A lot of y’all bitches be good earners with two out
    Take too many chances, chillin with niggaz, lampin
    Profilin, wildin, Jammie hung with the realty smilin
    Takin shots at Louie the thirteenth, and tie you up
    bathed in Sheik, so you could watch your man beat his meat
    Cuz, uh, lodi dodi, I got the body
    And tutti fruiti, I got the booty
    I shake, my rump, all in ya face
    Make a bitch tie my sneaker lace
    Cuz A is for Apple and J is for Jack
    And most of y’all bitches ain’t go no hair in the back
    And ya tracks is wack



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