Текст (слова) песни: M.M.O. - A Jazzy Rhyme

 
[Intro: Naisha (Triggnomm)] 
Yo this shit`s recording kid 
So drop some jazz shit (drop some shit) 
Drop some jazzy shit, (put the blunts down) 
Drop some jazzy shit, (son set it off, set it off) 
 
[Naisha] 
The State of Naisha, mug like Tai Yung 
Piss fruit wine, travel like fruit flies 
Through blue skies, America, San Pucci can take 
Cushion, I owe extinction, and play bronze 
Wit violins, we deep like talons 
It`s Costello, the classic M.J. smoke weed says 
Live like the life on ya R.C.A. 
The odyssey, blood and poetry, the shako wit pottery 
A mockery, to slay me a Mussolini wit Kennedy 
Muscle me, Emilio Savage team 
Goodfellas is obscene, my off the can is fuck up the scene 
Bonjour Madame, sushi, you bleed burgundy 
Oh sanata, doing a bada, Benjamin on Pearl Harbor 
Uh, you feeling it, spoke the smooth words of Shawn Carter 
My day will hood ya rob saga, the city in red 
Seen the crew, dealt the income, seven P.M. 
Bermuda tennis, remember in the A.M. 
Shit like stankon, or bredren, we spread like tiger bomb 
Twisted and feel it on, black espionage 
Bump Nas, crack the Naisha, all in favor 
 
[Chorus 2X: Triggnomm] 
It`s a jazzy rhyme from the J to the Z 
Wit a classic shine like a `98 M3 
Smooth as Badu, slow mo` from Malibu 
To Honolulu, The Massive, we comin` through 
 
[Triggnomm] 
Peep the latest, medallions players 
My scene is a drop top black Beem, interior mint green 
Plus loaded, pass Naish` the dice, bet he roll it 
4-5-6, stock bank, now we holdin` 
Niggas is cucci, we absolutely get the lucci 
Son, I love money, like Ricky love Lucy 
In fact, I know this cat in Colorado named Ricardo 
Pushin` milato`s, money and murder was his motto 
He read the Bible, that`s only cuz he live the trifle 
New his days were numbered the surface of disciple 
Meanwhile, he stay browsin` for housin` 
Cuz black cats just can`t play these maps wit thousands 
Ice jewels, cuz cash rule, keep a two 
True hard knock, take that ass straight to school, son 
I got a feeling we gon` rise this far 
Word bonds, scratchin` my palm, eatin` shrimp parmegan 
True Don Juan, wit the iced out clusters on 
You gots to hustle, then son, get ya hustle on 
You gots to gamble, then son, get ya gamble on 
Big Trigga, best believe, I`m gon` handle long 
 
[Chorus 4X]
 

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A Jazzy Rhyme