"Harlem Nights" lyrics
(Yeah, yeah)
1998, Life's great
(Uh)
TM what up?
Taylor Gang business
Gold Daytona's with the navy face
Serenade your lady with the baby face
Pillow talking nigga's they be spewing hate
Smoking buddha with my shotta doing crazy eights
Last call for alcohol, got your bitch with me
Harlem nights, shake the dice, watch me get jiggy
Gangsta attitude, I don't get friendly
The plug said the price, told em' get with me
I'm just celebrating life, get my drink on
Frank Lucas without the rat and the mink on
All about a dollar, hope you got my message
Funny-style nigga's never be in my presence
Promote myself, Don King with the palm trees
Get you touched like paws, I got a long reach
Shitty foreign language speaking in these satin sheets
If it ain't money we'll be talking about, I barely speak
Cruch ice, red-eye flights, I'm overnight
All my boys from the hood, you nigga's overhype
Williams, ladies feel em' because he dress nice
Cocaine bright white, shades dim the light
Big woods, the marshals on me like (dergood)
Got some money stashed in the cut, case' it don't go good
The highest, that slick talk gon' slip by us
And we ain't worry about what you thinking, your bitch eying
(For real)
For every user, there is a danger of a bad trip on the drug (yeah yeah)
Where sensory distortion becomes terrifying, and the acid head (Ah) may leap from a window or run widely through traffic
There is a steady flow in the San Fransico hospitals of young people who have freaked out, have been picked up by the police in a state of desperate care (Back like a four in a half, still got more in the stash) (Word)
Where are my parents? Do my friends know I'm here? Where am I?
Where are we-
Come here
1998, Life's great
(Uh)
TM what up?
Taylor Gang business
Gold Daytona's with the navy face
Serenade your lady with the baby face
Pillow talking nigga's they be spewing hate
Smoking buddha with my shotta doing crazy eights
Last call for alcohol, got your bitch with me
Harlem nights, shake the dice, watch me get jiggy
Gangsta attitude, I don't get friendly
The plug said the price, told em' get with me
I'm just celebrating life, get my drink on
Frank Lucas without the rat and the mink on
All about a dollar, hope you got my message
Funny-style nigga's never be in my presence
Promote myself, Don King with the palm trees
Get you touched like paws, I got a long reach
Shitty foreign language speaking in these satin sheets
If it ain't money we'll be talking about, I barely speak
Cruch ice, red-eye flights, I'm overnight
All my boys from the hood, you nigga's overhype
Williams, ladies feel em' because he dress nice
Cocaine bright white, shades dim the light
Big woods, the marshals on me like (dergood)
Got some money stashed in the cut, case' it don't go good
The highest, that slick talk gon' slip by us
And we ain't worry about what you thinking, your bitch eying
(For real)
For every user, there is a danger of a bad trip on the drug (yeah yeah)
Where sensory distortion becomes terrifying, and the acid head (Ah) may leap from a window or run widely through traffic
There is a steady flow in the San Fransico hospitals of young people who have freaked out, have been picked up by the police in a state of desperate care (Back like a four in a half, still got more in the stash) (Word)
Where are my parents? Do my friends know I'm here? Where am I?
Where are we-
Come here
Writer(s): Bryan Simmons, Kevin Lee Woods
