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Fes Taylor
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Living My Life
[Intro:Fes Taylor] Yeah, yeah, needles and thread, and fabric Taylor Made, the album
[Fes Taylor] You niggaz ain't gon' do shit to Fes How could you even fix ya lips to spit that mess? And might jump off, spit that tech Oh, you was just rapping, forget I said Make it happen, you know, if our kids ain't fed Then we mask and gloves with the ratchet, leave a nigga past tense My New York accent, Staten, I mastered S.I., N.Y. flow, took years to craft it Seat belt fastened, heat melt plastic Flesh burn fastest, turn a nigga to acids Dust to dust but I don't push leak Go see them Stapleton niggaz, make it holla at Squeak Rhymes the only way I could holla at Tik Still thugging, walking with revolvers in the street If I live this way for the rest of my life Will I take a flight to Heaven or a train to Hell? Still blowing on that haze, frying my braincells Put slugs in ya wig, applying like Wayne gel Honey with fake nails, and weaves like Beyonce Top Model chicks with a face like Stronjay I lace bitch niggaz like lingerie That's 98 cents, it's right across ya face I had a vision, front cover of The Source, but wait I could buy my moms a Jag, what a cost it paid At the studio, I don't oyster bake My life, had a choice to make, I voiced my fate A Rolls Royce, nah, this ain't my wedding day Ring on my finger, I'm engaged to the game (see it, niggaz?) Married to hip hop, want a nigga get shot Got it like a gift shop, rocks in my wristwatch Yea, yea, just watching ya bitch shocked I'm like a race car driver, make a pitstop Yea, get my dick whopped, plus nigga, I get gwop Armor car style like my niggaz making Brinks stop You think not? Pink pussy, pink fox I'm a great wolf, fuck 'em on sink tops You blink, ox right to ya voicebox Son, you a boy scout, me, I had to hoist rocks Get ya weight up, homey, I learn to need more spots Grab you by the throat, step on ya Reeboks
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