Blakroc, The Black Keys, RZA, Pharoahe Monch - Dollaz & Sense lyrics
The Black Keys [Dan Auerbach, Patrick Carney] Akron, Ohio, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Blakroc, The Black Keys, RZA, Pharoahe Monch - Dollaz & Sense lyrics]
Yeah, yo, Zig-Zag-Zig-Zig, uh
Zig-Zag-Zig, yeah, uh
Oh man, this is very scary
Bza-Bza-Bza-Bobby not the ordinary
Hehehehe, you won't hear that old shit
Yo, turn the beat up a little bit just
So I can tell 'em what I've been
Trynna tell 'em you got, oh, man, Joe
Like Toney Starks said
We throw yo ass in the Cobra Clutch
Your man watch as your whole leg open up
Sober up, baby, it's the Bob Digi
We throw darts in the air
That flow like a frisbee
My niggas frostbitten, glass staying crispy
Love my wiz, but ya dud nigga miss me
I'm bionic, my chronic drowned in Digi juice
My fist fast as Bruce
You better call a truce
No excuse, the black man must stand up
Time to make the Wu sign
Throw both of your hands up
You see me in a Maserati, Gran Turismo
Up in the club
My beat got my sub than Quizno
Mama, just the business, I'mma get this
Keep the ten digit's, fuck that
Before I quit this
Walk in the prints of a Prince
If it don't make dollars, nigga, then it
Don't make sense
If it don't make dollar
Then it don't make sense
If it don't make dollar
Then it don't make sense
No, no, yeah, it don't make sense
I see dead people when I
Spit with my sixth sense
My sixteen with six sentences that make sense
Which means I inflict pain that's intense
I got brains backstage
I've been rhyming sick since
Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rocks
And rolls, found your roads, til I die
Toss French Francs, Dutch mark to the sky
Machines is black, my voice is fried
Rock and roll I lose control
Fuck the white ones
The Black Keys got so much soul
While you come off of the bench
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense
Don't make dollars, then it don't make sense
Dog, it needs to make sense
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense
Zig-Zag-Zig, yeah, uh
Oh man, this is very scary
Bza-Bza-Bza-Bobby not the ordinary
Hehehehe, you won't hear that old shit
Yo, turn the beat up a little bit just
So I can tell 'em what I've been
Trynna tell 'em you got, oh, man, Joe
Like Toney Starks said
We throw yo ass in the Cobra Clutch
Your man watch as your whole leg open up
Sober up, baby, it's the Bob Digi
We throw darts in the air
That flow like a frisbee
My niggas frostbitten, glass staying crispy
Love my wiz, but ya dud nigga miss me
I'm bionic, my chronic drowned in Digi juice
My fist fast as Bruce
You better call a truce
No excuse, the black man must stand up
Time to make the Wu sign
Throw both of your hands up
You see me in a Maserati, Gran Turismo
Up in the club
My beat got my sub than Quizno
Mama, just the business, I'mma get this
Keep the ten digit's, fuck that
Before I quit this
Walk in the prints of a Prince
If it don't make dollars, nigga, then it
Don't make sense
If it don't make dollar
Then it don't make sense
If it don't make dollar
Then it don't make sense
No, no, yeah, it don't make sense
I see dead people when I
Spit with my sixth sense
My sixteen with six sentences that make sense
Which means I inflict pain that's intense
I got brains backstage
I've been rhyming sick since
Sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rocks
And rolls, found your roads, til I die
Toss French Francs, Dutch mark to the sky
Machines is black, my voice is fried
Rock and roll I lose control
Fuck the white ones
The Black Keys got so much soul
While you come off of the bench
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense
Don't make dollars, then it don't make sense
Dog, it needs to make sense
If it don't make dollars
Then it don't make sense