Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan - Fixin' To Die Blues lyrics

And I don't walk around lookin for it, you know?, But

Yesterday It Seemed to just wander on till it found me,

the gossip found me

Then why don't you just prove it.

How? You don't know how to prove it?,

well, what you just do is...

Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop... (Oo)

Stop, hatin' on a nigga

that is a weak emotion

The lady of a nigga

And you could get tipped

like ya waitin on a nigga, and

Put a body bag and an apron on tha nigga

I give my all behind the mic,

but you could never see, if you sit behind the light

You don't have to pick me.. to win the title fight

But I'm gone wear that championship belt soo tight

And if I'm wrong, there is no right

And if I'm wrong, there is no light

I'm tryna be polite, but you niggas in my hair like the nigga on lice

My flow is rare, these other rappers nice,

These other rappers bark,

Some of em' even bite

But I'm much more bright

I give the game sight

So before you dim the light you just might... might... wanna

Think it over (think it over) Oo

Think it over (think it over) Baby

Stop... analyzin' critacizin',

You should realize what I am and start epidamizin'

Confident, got the heart of the biggest lion

Confident like fuck em all get on my dick and ride it

My flow sick, so sick, it's like my shit is dyin'

It rains a lot in my city, cause my citys cryin'

Cause my citys dyin'

But I emerge from all of that, I am a livin pio-neer, sighin'

Fear God, not them

Steer my Robin Coupe through the streets of the boot... and

Soo-woop

And, then I leave a tub in the boot, I leave a blood bath,

Sorry there's a tub in the boot, now where the drugs at?

Like the string of the shoe

No niggas want that

I'm twisted like the string on a boot, where New Orleans at?

I build hip hop solely like a bus pass

So in your possession, I must ask...

Hey, haven't I been good to you? (Think it over)

Tell me, haven't I been sweet to you?

Drag my name through the mud

I come out clean

Cast away stones

I won't even blink

A gun is not a math problem,

I won't even think

Just leave you dead like the meat under my sink

Don't believe in me

Don't believe me

I graduated from hungry,

and made it to greedy

My flow is like pasta

Take it and eat it

But I'm gone need g's if I'm bakin' the zeedy

You niggas want beef?

I want a steak and uh, we be

Lost in Amsterdam or Jamaica where we be

Hard body nigga, takin it easy

All about my paper, bout my paper like Eazy

Why do rappers, lot of rappers, lot of fans, lot of rappers, lot of rappers

Lie like actin, cut the motha fucka down

Cut the jack... fuck your props

I AM hip hop.

And I ain't dead I'm alive

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