lirik lagu boldy james & chuck strangers - whale fishing
[intro: boldy james]
i paid my dues, facing life, i was stressing on it
now i take a deuce, cut it twice, put a seven on it
mafia, what else?
[verse: boldy james]
backwoods full of dead opps, reminiscing back on when i bled blocks
press~shifting, spot you with the work, we be deadlifting
snub~nosed stick dancin’, glock nina clip hanging
concreature brick mason, been known to keep the heads boppin’
spin a drill front and center field like i’m mickey mantle
middle finger to the yankees, this to the black sopranos
who broke the mold, lo and behold
this for emmett till, wrist dancing
mr. bold~and~cold with the tricky dance moves, strigadil with the finger grips on the handle
bottle rocket hot, lit the wick on the roman candle
put the samples out, next day, have all your heads missing
where squares goin’ seventeen like uncle grady’s son
playing with that junkyard dog cut with the redd foxx
what else?
backwoods full of dead opps, we was h~ll~risen
max spoons in them lotto packs, got the heads nodding
slappin’ in them same drug zones the feds watching
i know this sh~t come with gun smoke or a jail sentence
trap booming, a thousand stacks is a meal ticket
used to red~roof them brickies, now we hill~top ’em
still clocking, quick to chip a n~gga like some red hot
still clutching, stuffing backwoods full of dead opps
this russian cream’ll crush his dream from a headshot, give my youngin a head nod to blow the submachine
three hundred beans on my nuts, leaving from the rest stop, touch back with a twelve~popper, screaming, “f~ck you mean?”
these honey bourbons just remind me how we spun his turban, hopping in my champagne suburban, fleeing from the scene
hundred~twenty~thousand on my neck, though i’m a humble king
footb~lls and xans, he don’t know his pants from his jean
thumbelina with the laserquest when we be jumping clean
so clean, so fresh, had to make sure that the table set
kept my sandwich bags where my scale and my razor at
shaving cocaína, double cup of funky cold medina
me and tone lōc on the warren where they raised us at
selling big fat monkey nuts, rocks big as raisinets
‘member selling dope on that corner in front of the cleaners, gambling with my life, i bent back every time i placed a bet
[outro]
turn him right back around, he’s almost driving
d~mn
where you goin’, bro?
bro, where you goin’, bro?
bro, bro, bro, bro
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