trouble on my mind

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  1. Mükemmel bir pusha t parçası. 2014 yazını her gün dinleyerek geçirmiştim.

    Böyrön bu da link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GKL_ZoJQjc

    bu da lyrics:

    "[Verse 1: Pusha T]"
    It’s the blackout, ‘rari got the back out
    Showing my black ass, engine in the glass house
    Started in the crack house, Obama went the back route
    Kill Bin Laden, another 4 up in the black house
    Still got the Macs out, pull the mask down like a mascot
    Still trick with bitches out with money or with ass shots
    G.O.O.D had room for one more, I took the last spot
    Re-up gang Peter nigga, yey done hit the jackpot
    Whole ‘nother level, then you add fame
    That’s a whole ‘nother devil, legit drug dealer
    That’s a whole ‘nother bezel, the carbon Audemar
    That’s a whole ‘nother metal, but still keep it ghetto
    Behind the scenes, pull strings like Gepetto
    The gun blow steam, whistle like a tea kettle
    Runnin’ like the rebels
    UNLV* sport shoe on a pedal, I let you niggas settle

    "[Hook: Pusha T]"
    Trouble on my mind
    I got trouble on my mind
    Trouble on my mind
    So much trouble on my mind

    "[Verse 2: Tyler, The Creator]"
    Pharrell said, “Get ‘em,” so I got ‘em
    Tripped on Bristol Palin then I accidentally shot ‘em
    Then it ricocheted and killed the game
    I’m a problem
    'Cause I wanna fuck the world but not a fan of using condoms
    Pardon my French, I’m going hard as my dick
    When I envision my tip on the crust of bitch’s lips
    Mr. Lipschitz has been trippin’ since I mentioned Reptar’s
    Triceratops dinosaur dick
    I feel it in my gut to kill these motherfucks
    As a must like the arm of my pits
    You niggas coming shorter than a Bush Wick Billy costume
    On sale during Christmas in Philly
    Uhm, well, not really, it’s gettin’ kinda chilly
    Let’s hit a couple bars and get some bitches wet willies
    Soaked, getting’ jiggy with it in Bel-Air's richest
    With a bag of pills, couple berries and a biscuit

    "[Hook]"

    "[Verse 3: Tyler, The Creator]"
    I’m a fucking walking paradox
    And a really shitty rapper in my favorite pair of socks ironed pair of dockers
    Two Glocks cocked screamin’ West Side!
    With the speakers blastin' a pair o' pacs
    Yonkers 10 milli, you’re silly
    Thinkin’ that this ‘Preme wasn’t Free Willy
    The feeling is neutral, the gang is youthful
    And fuckin’ tighter than Chad Hugo’s pupils
    It’s Wolf Gang and the

    "[Pusha T]"
    With the re-up’s a helluva buzz
    Rick James said cocaine’s a helluva drug
    Who else could put the hipsters with felons and thugs
    And paint a perfect picture what sellin’ it does?
    This is for the critics, who doubted the chemistry
    Two different worlds, same symmetry
    And this black art, see the wizardry
    When you at the top of your game, you make enemies
    You’ll never finish me
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