Luther Vandross - Hearts Get Broken All The Time (But The Problem Is, This Time It's Mine) lyrics

You know how we do, Roc-a-Fella... forever... You can catch me

skatin through your town puttin it down y'all relatin

No waitin I'll make your block infrared hot I'm like Satan

Y'all feel a nigga's struggle, y'all think a nigga love to

hustle behind the wheel, tryin to escape my trouble

kids stop they greetin me, I'm talkin sweet to keys

Cursin the very God, that bought this wreath to be

My life is, based on sacrifices, jewels like ices

and fools that think I slip, you fuck around

you get your guys hit, they built me to be filthy

on some I-do-or-die shit, for real

The price of leather's got me, deeper than ever and

just think, with this here, I'm tryin to feel made nig-ga

Politics as us-ual... I took my

Frito to Tito in the district, blessed me with some

VS somethins I can live with, stop frontin

And for the dough I raise, gotta get shit appraised

No disrespect to you, make sure you word is true

I'm takin wages down in Vegas just in case Tyson

have a major night off, that's clean money, the tax write-off

You ain't seen money in your life, when it

comes to this cheese y'all like Three Blind Mice

A smokin bro, who pump Willie Ike spokes

The furthest you Chiles been is the Pocanos

My portfolio reads: leads to Don Corleone, nigga please

Ten year feleon, heavy on the wrist, our face used

with the diamond blooded Jesus and blind your face

youse for life... sharight, Jigga, I keep it tight nig-ga

Politics as us-ual...

You feel my triumph never, feel my pain I'm lyin

Low in the leather Zion, the best that's ever came

The game changes like, my mind just ain't right

We 'gwan get this dough, I guess it ain't your night

Suckin me in like a vacumn, I remember

tellin my family I'll be back soon, that was December

Eighty-five and, Jay-Z rise ten years later

got me wise still can't break my underworld ties

I wear black a lot, in the Ac', act a lot

Got matchin VCR's, a huge Magnavox

to nitch, green like spinach pop wines that's vintage

It's a lot of big money in my sentence

Hittin towards a mil', lip a, written I kill like that

chick faked me one-two cat, yeah, I do dat

Ain't no stoppin the champagne from poppin

the drawers from droppin, the law from watchin, I hate em

Politics as us-ual