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• Artiste: Ransom & Harry Fraud
• Titre: Live From The Roxy
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La música de Harry Fraud Live from The Roxy, we got pink 10s and oxys Thorazine and morphine, blue jeans, no Versace Brick of Phil Donahue, no Joanie & Chachi Cook it up right in front of you, somethin' like Hibachi Street life, pocket full of bands, Mariachi Three dice in my hand, look like I’m playin' Yahtzee Plain-Jane Yachty, pushin' foreign like I'm Fivi' Walkin outta Neiman’s like I inked a deal with Ghazi Don’t love no thotty, sellin’ birds, catchin’ bodies Only sport I ever played, only game, only hobby Hope all is well on that road, it get kinda rocky We call it hell ‘cause my block hotter than wasabi White, hard and stucco, shit look like epoxy I know thеse niggas wanna rob me— why I got my Glocky But now we Somеrset trippin', catchin’ bricks from papi Money over my ex bitch, I put that shit on Moxy Yeah, I don’t know what you all want from me (At all) Stay to myself, ‘cause misery loves company I know I turned my back on some people who tried to front on me (I know) Yeah, ‘cause misery loves company Scarred by a lil nigga I treated just like a son to me (Ah, damn) Can’t repeat what that nigga done to me, nah (Nah) But I’m livin’ my life comfortably No one can see, ‘cause I know misery loves company Just play my shit to start each morning (Yes) Here go a brief warnin’ (What?) Why don’t you turn your back when the streets callin’? (Damn) The fiends movin’ like they’re sleepwalkin’ I don’t sleep often, (Nah) the cousin of death is rest in a cheap coffin Heard through the wire that we keep warrin’ (Yeah) But the words of Christopher Wallace in our heads is sayin’ “keep scorin’” (Yes) Playin’ Chris and Snoop in the hoopty while police swarmin’ We wanna be more, so we look for Wallace to be Jordan, huh Now we pile up in sweet foreigns Stoic killers that sign peace offerings, divide each portion Savage, pourin' wine out of sheek porcelain Stay out my lane with that weak offense (Stay back) A lion never slept in the jungle (Never) Used to be feared ’til I read the definition of humble Now I'm the greatest, I say it, never whisper or mumble I stayed on the block when the stomach of my sister would rumble (Ah) Through constant repetition and struggle (Yeah) Survived the game without a coach, exhibition or huddle My mission is subtle, I motivate, you ain't supposed to wait You rather live in shit than have us witness you grippin’ a shovel (That’s real) I'm like Van Gogh when his hands flow But in a bando, I'm like Rambo when he land blows Y'all niggas Sambos, l'm a godfather like Brando (Yeah) Out in Saint-Tro' with a tanned ho and a Lambo I think she Anglo, so I told her ass that she can't go She on the gram ‘stead of watchin’ her little man grow Cut from a different cloth, you can only reap what your hands sow (That’s it) What's God givin’ is Ran’s flow