Your Old Droog – Bangladesh (feat. Heems) letras

[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
At 16 my slang was fresh
I would not tire, spitting hot fire in the sesh
Or on the voicemail like John Tesh
Couldn’t see me in the flesh
You’re better off silent like Depeche
You know my steelo
Tranquilo since Jordan made The Shot on Ehlo
If you don’t know anything, know that YOD nice
Check my closet, see Lo like 3 dice
And I ain’t even ahead, thieving for bread
Bandit with a candle lit, grieving the dead, I said
I’m all disheveled the stress levels is high
As I try to make sense of the time that whizzed by
Saw my looks dilapidate at a rapid rate
Used to be virile ‘fore the ‘ports made me sterile
The terrible son chronicles and cock-blocking perils
But I dust myself off, rocking my apparel
Former cokeheads like Doc and Darryl
Still came in this lock, stock, and barrel
While I was making sure every bar is hard
You herbs was playing Pokemon, chasing Charizard
I peeped the scenery, sipping green tea
The old head dropped gems in the yard like Mr. Feeny
Now I’m pulling up to Leanly
With Santini, Houdini in a zucchini-colored Lamborghini

[Verse 2: Heems]
I’m Fellini eating fettuccine at the mini-mall
She said "Heemy you can’t see me why you such a meany for?"
Whipping in that beany 4-door like you on city hall
Out in Long Island, why you don’t come to the city for?
Thought I did the rap shit in vain like a junky
Funky fresh cold medina hot sexy punkie
Mama tried to punk me, dump me, jump me
Cause I kept it hundred since 21 and Jump Street
Now I’m in Tahiti with a queen like Nefertiti (she fly)
You can’t see me ’cause my face between her titties (that’s why)
Bank off the city, hit the bank, cop a CD (I’m high)
Offshore accounts in Dubai with habibi (my guy)
Put the bars together like a restaurateur provocateur
With the raw and Bobby Brown jaw
If my melanin could talk and tell you what the brown saw
Why did the brown pour, the feds probably ’round y’all
So I should probably keep it quiet
About the selling and the buying
They paying when I’m flying
Twenty Bangladeshis with me, ’bout to start a riot
I’ve been yelling, I’ve been screaming, I’ve been kicking, I’ve been crying
We move that product for the Prada
Only whip low-key: Miata or Sonata
It’s Himachu – fuck a Pikachu or a Charizard
My bars is hard, my girl went to Barbizon

[Sean Price Voicemail Outro]
Classic man, it’s Sean P. I’mma need a verse from you home skillet. But, you know, you might not wanna do it, you know – call me back and tell me "You know what, get the fuck outta here, fuck Sean P." Or, or you might call with, "hey, Sean this is the best record I’ve heard in my life, man. I’m honored to get on it." Or you know, "Fuck is this guy Sean P?", whatever
Just hit me back classic man