lirik lagu med, blu, & madlib – serving
[intro: blu]
ay yo, servin’
s-servin’
s-servin’
[verse 1: blu]
ay yo, whether it’s not pushing blocks
cushions and curtains drawn
servin’ is, what we do most
certainly on the coast
novelty with it
niggas is lottery numbers
balling is constantly
in and out of the slum
gotta keep my hustling steady
in and out of the summer
you niggas messy, spaghetti
we in and out like the burger
servin’ them 24/7, seven eleven we servin’
9 to 5 is my motto
red david, we working
red daytons, playa
picture that pedal pedaling through you
with the spinners reflecting off of the puddles in the sewer
see, that clack don’t move
weaving them fiends right to you
with that smile on, suckers
like i never knew a cooler nigga
[hook: blu + med]
servin’
windows tinted leanin’ with the central tracks
ay yo, servin’
bossing on them (?)
ay yo, servin’
even when them curbs when they shootin’ (servin’)
k!ll ’em when that instrumental keep ’em (servin’)
big wheel, gleam how i lean on ’em (servin’)
pull up on the scene with the beat ballin’ (servin’)
50 in my jeans, with the fiends calling (servin’)
even when that instrumental raw
[verse 2: med]
24/7 heavyweights
city or state to state
beating a whip right out the super 8
you kidding my nigga, with a syringe
loop breaks , praising your savior behind shades
bruising fools, mommy on the, uh
catch a body when i glock
pop a shotty, dying love, hun
no offense, b-mmy we resent
probably b-mping 2pacalypse, swervin’
third figure, 50 bird kilo you get served
herb or either let it burn, word
malt liquor slang chorus from the blur
picture tryna get right ‘fore the first
earn amount or nothing for your bank account
grind like the brakes is out
three kings ’bout to get royally slain
fresh rap in a foil for fiends
[hook]
[verse 3: hodgy beats]
i spliff herb and get served
it’s the word about these picture perfect
i piss on curves, like i’m freaking nervous
i’m just a pervert, looking at a b-tch that’s looking sherbert
sorbet, metropolitans, smoke and drink
marys get married to cosmopolitans
bottled it in its peramiters i go in like a gentleman
headed to an optometry
to see if i’m a simple men
with bigger plans, no kiddie land
my head spins, shorter than mini-me
i’m the titty man, hand me some titties man
i got titty hands, counting paper
like a busy man with like 50 grand
i got opportunity i see
sick with a disease, nigga catching your decease
rest in peace, nigga, please no resurrection
i’ll accept it if i’m included
in the will written on your f-ckin’ death bed
that’s well said, and heaven said it
and it all began at city college, eleven credits
[hook]
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