Charles Hamilton - Pope Mobile Breaks lyrics
[Charles Hamilton - Pope Mobile Breaks lyrics]
It's not hard to love women
It's hard to love me hard to
Guard me and hard to
Judge me they're my audience lately, no LL or
James Smith, more like Nai-smith
Or Nais-mith shit
I exit from knowing the name 'cause
I want to spit the best
Shit top baller, top Moorer
Top bawler or tears, and I'm
A scorer, weird cause
I'm not used to the sport
Not abusing women to
Do what I do anymore not really abusing then
All I know is this game is
Used to abusing them and I
Love them more then they can love
Themselves and I don't love
Me i might make themselves when I
Touch me 'cause they're love
To me what's ugly? Look at
Me or look above me
I spit hard to get niggas off pause
I mean get 'em off me
Because they're trying to guard me now
I spit bars just to
Get women off cause they the hard
Within a nigga when they're trying
To guard me so retardedly I
Got to be bigger then
Their assumptions of what a nigga
With a trigger can do
So who's bigger than dude with
The trigger holder who's
Quick to abuse a nigga until his
Fluid hit's his shoes? Such a
Metaphor is even heavier nowadays so
I let the door close
At least to my heart and let it
Piece apart what I want to
Say before I run away all the
Thoughts are now runaway slaves
From the brain, to the heart, to the soul
To the mouth and it rolls out
Like a rolling carpet of
Red hard headed and I'm only
Hard in bed and this
Is a music bed and I'm guarding it instead
Because a hard offensive member makes a
Hard office defender i did this shit from
Behind my desk in my mind
Insects I don't guess
Adages makes my rapping average you
Can sum it up
In a phrase Grandma would say back in the
Stuck days, the up days when you was trying
To figure out what's up with fuck it, the
Subject stays and I stay away
From the subject because
I'm not trying to get paid like fuck
Getting paid
Throw all this love shit away if
I sat down to write this shit down
I'd be more depressed i see more than
Stress coming up the runner up
#1 is on some other stuff
And I don't give a mother-fuck
I'm the king of
Acid Jazz acid drips, acid laughs
That's some
Shit, back to math, back to class
Back to making classics black classics are
Now Jamaican classics roll up
And get pissed
Because they completely missed it from a
Distance what's the point? You
Love the point, cause you grew up
With the point and you love
The point like Mark Price
Like Steve Nash there's an 'S' in the way
Even ask even basketball classes need to pass
It's hard to love me hard to
Guard me and hard to
Judge me they're my audience lately, no LL or
James Smith, more like Nai-smith
Or Nais-mith shit
I exit from knowing the name 'cause
I want to spit the best
Shit top baller, top Moorer
Top bawler or tears, and I'm
A scorer, weird cause
I'm not used to the sport
Not abusing women to
Do what I do anymore not really abusing then
All I know is this game is
Used to abusing them and I
Love them more then they can love
Themselves and I don't love
Me i might make themselves when I
Touch me 'cause they're love
To me what's ugly? Look at
Me or look above me
I spit hard to get niggas off pause
I mean get 'em off me
Because they're trying to guard me now
I spit bars just to
Get women off cause they the hard
Within a nigga when they're trying
To guard me so retardedly I
Got to be bigger then
Their assumptions of what a nigga
With a trigger can do
So who's bigger than dude with
The trigger holder who's
Quick to abuse a nigga until his
Fluid hit's his shoes? Such a
Metaphor is even heavier nowadays so
I let the door close
At least to my heart and let it
Piece apart what I want to
Say before I run away all the
Thoughts are now runaway slaves
From the brain, to the heart, to the soul
To the mouth and it rolls out
Like a rolling carpet of
Red hard headed and I'm only
Hard in bed and this
Is a music bed and I'm guarding it instead
Because a hard offensive member makes a
Hard office defender i did this shit from
Behind my desk in my mind
Insects I don't guess
Adages makes my rapping average you
Can sum it up
In a phrase Grandma would say back in the
Stuck days, the up days when you was trying
To figure out what's up with fuck it, the
Subject stays and I stay away
From the subject because
I'm not trying to get paid like fuck
Getting paid
Throw all this love shit away if
I sat down to write this shit down
I'd be more depressed i see more than
Stress coming up the runner up
#1 is on some other stuff
And I don't give a mother-fuck
I'm the king of
Acid Jazz acid drips, acid laughs
That's some
Shit, back to math, back to class
Back to making classics black classics are
Now Jamaican classics roll up
And get pissed
Because they completely missed it from a
Distance what's the point? You
Love the point, cause you grew up
With the point and you love
The point like Mark Price
Like Steve Nash there's an 'S' in the way
Even ask even basketball classes need to pass