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• Artiste: Clipse
• Titre: Momma I'm So Sorry
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(Gather Round...) (Miami Vice... For My Cocaine Dreamers... You Kno... Miami Vice) (... Pusha Spit This Shit For Ya'll...Here We Go) [Pusha T:] Youngun don't make my cells rise, I shoot you out ya chuckers Pusha hear the whispers of all you mothafuckers Papa said stay free of them suckers Minus the wicked jumper, street balla like the rucker Skip to my loo if you looking for a couple roosters in the duffle Keep the hood screaming cock-a-doodle-doo fuckers Coke by the ton, rap niggaz I'm the one With basic rhyme pattern, how the fuck you trying to chatter Basic ass rappers got 'em running for they life I philosophies about glocks and keys Niggaz call me young black Socrates, West Indies Bitch drop to knees quick (what) With dreams of being a rich man's bitch Feel sorry for niggaz, pull triggers and they shit click So many bullets jammed in my shit call me lead fist Shake the diamonds out my wrists [Chorus:] Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious I don't fear Tubbs and Crockett Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious Got two hot rocks in my pocket Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious Big home, palm trees and watches Mama I'm so sorry, I'm so obnoxious My only accomplice is my conscious (Gather Around...) [Malice:] Youngun learn from me let's not be at odds Were more like than not 2 peas of a pod Same hustle 'cept my hustle now flows I once gave it away, at 30 grams an O That accounts for all them days in the cold Feels like kissing cake mix, can't wait to lick the bowl But it's a bigger picture, homes trust I done seen it From Frankford to Colon, Oslo to Sweden From Italy's Milan to the shores of Nepali Now I consider Ferrarian Salvador dalis I'm no longer local, my thoughts are global That's why I seen distant, son expand ya vision Even adored by Norwegian women, blonde hair and blue eyes I'm gettin' back with a vengeance Whip it like they want me all attached to the kitten And they wonder in these raps if I'm kidding, huh [Chorus] (Miami Vice...) [Pusha T:] Sorry heavenly father, once again I hate to bother It's P the evil creeper sent some to the grim reaper Meanwhile, me and my missus like Soloman and Sheeba Sign of the times her Emilio Gucci sneakers uh Ghetto literature, I damn near died from Bolivia It don't take much to get rid of ya, it's a sin for ya Better call the minister [Malice:] I'm sorry grandmama for mistakes I have made When I aired family business, how you put me in my place Even my baby mama, I can't look you in the face 'Cause I can't do enough, you a symbol of God's grace So I place you in the flower bed, porcelain shower heads Throughout the house and keep the younguns' mouths fed And when I'm gone, I hope it is said I gave structure to the youth by the example I lead, uh [Chorus] (Miami Vice...) (Thanks to BlackDragon for correcting these lyrics)