Papoose Faith Lyrics

The Nacirema Dream Track Listing
Digital Media 1
  • 1 Intro
  • 2 Motion Picture
  • 3 Mother Ghetto
  • 4 Aim Shoot
  • 5 Skit
  • 6 Cure
  • 7 Nacirema Dream
  • 8 Pimpin Won't Die
  • 9 6AM
  • 10 Skit
  • 11 Law Library, Part 8
  • 12 What's My Name
  • 13 Top of My Game
  • 14 Faith
  • 15 Turn It Up
  • 16 Die Like a G
  • 17 Get at Me
  • 18 Where I Come From
  • 19 R.I.P.
  • 20 Alphabetical Slaughter, Part II / Z to A
  • (Intro)
    I believe
    I believe
    I believe
    I believe

    (Verse 1 : Papoose)
    I’m feelin grouchy, saucy, hungry
    Rolocini, new sex, lookin for bruised necks and blondies
    Won’t make em baby mommies, I just wan em to swallow me
    Sometimes that be the only thing that calms me
    Police be actin like Starsky and Hutch
    These fucks scheming so they could charge me
    Cops needs colors so they could feel bossy
    You tryna get yo colors up, you think you Fonzy?
    I eat a lot of fish and parsley
    Green vegetables, sweet peas and broccoli
    Drink a lot of water so it could wash me
    My homie told me stop eatin rappers, he tryna starve me
    I ain’t startin trouble but pardon me
    Rappers get a little hard and start actin cocky
    Maury Povich need to swab me
    These dudes used to be my sons like Charles Barkley
    You think you Scarface? I bet the shower to you
    Get rid of Tony like 'Melo and Amar'e
    Man, that’s word to Gadhafi
    Your war stories put me to sleep, I need some coffee
    Bragging bout old work, that’s beyond me
    You ain’t put in no work since a tardy
    Man, you washed like the laundry
    You a ex murderer like Ashanti
    The back of the club, that’s where the gods be
    Being all that we could be, me and my army
    They said I can’t rock a party
    Give me the mike, I’m a rocket, they better launch me
    My music is judged harshly
    Everybody making comments, they wanna blog me
    Knowledge of the game they posses hardly
    I call em a bunch of meatheads like Archie
    Haters say they wanna stomp me
    I know how to weave and bob, no Marley
    Dig my way up out of a grave if I get bodied
    Dug er, dug er, they better bury me under concrete

    Yea, king of New York
    Yea yea, I’m the king of New York
    Yea yea, king of New York
    Yea nigga, I’m the king of New York

    Lyrics © OBO APRA/AMCOS

    Artists A to Z: