Charles Hamilton - She Speaks lyrics
[Charles Hamilton - She Speaks lyrics]
Yeah I know, and
Bitch, I do lyrical kegels
Giving pussy niggas a spiritual fever, a diva
Your whole life is a fashion faux pas
No lie, your stories ain’t magic, know why?
Because your style is a blind stylist
And my flow is my profile, it's private
You can’t see it, translation: it’s quiet
Fuck a counselor, bitch, I need guidance
Or just a Spanish therapist to give me woosa
Bad Boys 2 style, might use her
For her ability to see the future
I been looking at today since "Loser"
In the Marines, I was a PT Cruiser
My gunnery sergeant used to beat me too much
What up Tucker? Rough motherfucker
You and Colonel Collins could
Use some burning chronic
Collins was cool as long as
I followed the rules his daughter was hot
But not gonna do nothing with me
I was a Lance Corporal
She wasn’t fucking with me
I’m an ugly with ugly feet sucks for me
She would've fell in love with me
Now I’m stuck with Belladonna
And a fucking Klee-
N-E-X, scared to send a text to
N-E-S-A-J, played it yesterday
Memories, bitch, just get the fuck over it
Quick to get sober, but no, I’m going in, so
Catch me at the Super Bowl 64 endzone
Usin' more syringes than the NO
Saints, which means that I ain't
Which means that I did
Which means that I hate
The reason that I did the shit that
Got me bent all out of shape
So mother, you can never be replaced
Getting booted in the 718
Sick of groupies getting moody, saying
Whatever I say, I know the fucking politics
If you aren’t a novice
To you it isn’t obvious
To the pirate flag wavers
And to all of my frien nocent neighbors
I thank you, my candor
Is grounds for a liquid pound of Mylanta
Every conjured up question, I answer
No I don’t have crabs, bitch, try cancer
Diagnosed with my arm inside a rope
Calm like I don’t know
But armed to die alone
Where’s arms? Sitting around at the cat scan
Fat chance, I'll give myself a back hand
You fucking bitch
I thought microwaves helped
Fuck it, remove the food
I'll just microwave myself
Mad at me jerkin off? I like to play myself
High is raising Hell to the
Light of saying "hell"
Like, "What the hell, are you not happy?"
Charles just got happy
And y'all just shot at me
Peter Gilmore owes me his life savings
I need to kill more flows
Then I might pay me
It’s a light day, day 4 of the menstrual
Stay for more, it’s suspenseful
I may be crazy, but y'all are in love
You all are in love with him
Baby, baby, Charles is in love
Falling in love with sin
I done been through everything
All the things I never wanted
Never had to hit the club not even the 700
I just want to realize something
You can never tarnish
My zone nigga you can never harm it
Bitch, I got the crown labels wanna hit me up
But, I do it for the love
So I don’t give a fuck
I shave my head for it, hit Britney up
For the brains she gave me
And I mean her mind
The loser wanna rest loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest loser wanna rest
Its best I take a nap best I take a nap
Best I take a nap best I take a nap
Loser wanna
Bitch, I do lyrical kegels
Giving pussy niggas a spiritual fever, a diva
Your whole life is a fashion faux pas
No lie, your stories ain’t magic, know why?
Because your style is a blind stylist
And my flow is my profile, it's private
You can’t see it, translation: it’s quiet
Fuck a counselor, bitch, I need guidance
Or just a Spanish therapist to give me woosa
Bad Boys 2 style, might use her
For her ability to see the future
I been looking at today since "Loser"
In the Marines, I was a PT Cruiser
My gunnery sergeant used to beat me too much
What up Tucker? Rough motherfucker
You and Colonel Collins could
Use some burning chronic
Collins was cool as long as
I followed the rules his daughter was hot
But not gonna do nothing with me
I was a Lance Corporal
She wasn’t fucking with me
I’m an ugly with ugly feet sucks for me
She would've fell in love with me
Now I’m stuck with Belladonna
And a fucking Klee-
N-E-X, scared to send a text to
N-E-S-A-J, played it yesterday
Memories, bitch, just get the fuck over it
Quick to get sober, but no, I’m going in, so
Catch me at the Super Bowl 64 endzone
Usin' more syringes than the NO
Saints, which means that I ain't
Which means that I did
Which means that I hate
The reason that I did the shit that
Got me bent all out of shape
So mother, you can never be replaced
Getting booted in the 718
Sick of groupies getting moody, saying
Whatever I say, I know the fucking politics
If you aren’t a novice
To you it isn’t obvious
To the pirate flag wavers
And to all of my frien nocent neighbors
I thank you, my candor
Is grounds for a liquid pound of Mylanta
Every conjured up question, I answer
No I don’t have crabs, bitch, try cancer
Diagnosed with my arm inside a rope
Calm like I don’t know
But armed to die alone
Where’s arms? Sitting around at the cat scan
Fat chance, I'll give myself a back hand
You fucking bitch
I thought microwaves helped
Fuck it, remove the food
I'll just microwave myself
Mad at me jerkin off? I like to play myself
High is raising Hell to the
Light of saying "hell"
Like, "What the hell, are you not happy?"
Charles just got happy
And y'all just shot at me
Peter Gilmore owes me his life savings
I need to kill more flows
Then I might pay me
It’s a light day, day 4 of the menstrual
Stay for more, it’s suspenseful
I may be crazy, but y'all are in love
You all are in love with him
Baby, baby, Charles is in love
Falling in love with sin
I done been through everything
All the things I never wanted
Never had to hit the club not even the 700
I just want to realize something
You can never tarnish
My zone nigga you can never harm it
Bitch, I got the crown labels wanna hit me up
But, I do it for the love
So I don’t give a fuck
I shave my head for it, hit Britney up
For the brains she gave me
And I mean her mind
The loser wanna rest loser wanna rest
Loser wanna rest loser wanna rest
Its best I take a nap best I take a nap
Best I take a nap best I take a nap
Loser wanna