lirik lagu joel jungle - bolivia
my yankee hat strapped on, the sharpness remind you of joe dimaggio
camouflage suits, but it’s regular gear in cameos
i must’ve seen too many cats hand over patrick to danica
while i was in the cut serving the search , surfing britannicas
the most supreme on the mic, joel jungle, not kang the conqueror
that guy that bombed the city with bars & became a wanderer
crazy words & some kicks like a leather strap to my wrist
& they’re trying to sedate the patient, this needles making me sick
i feel like i’m in bolivia , my nose is numb as sh~t
and if i tell a doctor , they’re putting co next to vid
joel jungle’s a beast , that’s the only time that i’m sick
i get wrapped up in my thoughts ‘til my stomach decides to flip
i grab the mic, & stretch the recipe out for bolivian flake
i don’t cook crack, but i know to mix it like making beats for drake
i don’t play those nose games, so let me ask you once to clean your plate
& quit while your ahead, or lose your head filling your nasal sp~ce
white wall games , we’re playing in snow
we play & pay for the green, you gotta pay it & go
pick it up take it & go , take it some place & then blow
i don’t care which way you came, bolivia’s where i’m trying to go
rappers shaking in their boots like a pirate ship in a storm
i speak bombsh~lls, the type that’ll make you scared to perform
your kung fu’s no match, ‘cause over time you lost your form
then i picked it up off the desk & i saw that your name was torn
i got my black belt from slamming these older beats on the mat
stretching rappers out with bars, as if i just paid for their tatt
you’ve got an option homie, (what is it?) one out of two like a magic trick
drop it fast , or catch it the hardaway on some magic sh~t
that powder from bolivia, sosa had the right idea
tony messed up & they gave him more holes than the colosseum
at bams funeral i forced myself to look, it was hard to see him
it’s been 7 years with benny locked up, wait till they free him
i~got~deep~with~the~swiss making those cuts, it was for the cheese
now i gotta wash my hands ‘cause my fingertips smell like greed
those mountaintops in bolivia remind me of my weed
& when i make it back, for the next few years i’m smoking free
white wall games , we’re playing in snow
we play & pay for the green, you gotta pay it & go
pick it up take it & go , take it some place & then blow
i don’t care which way you came, bolivia’s where i’m trying to go
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