Praise The Lord Lyrics by Everlast

Praise The Lord Lyrics

    You know it's whitey
    And the likwits
    I say it's whitey
    And the likwits
    You know it's whitey
    And the likwits

    Watch me rock these sounds
    From the polo grounds
    To the sunset strip
    Like an acid trip
    I'll flash it back on ya
    Run it up on ya
    I was born in hempstead live
    Raised in california
    Mr. entreprenuer
    I rock the shot that's sure
    I need a dime plus more
    I sip the fine liquor
    I want the cash in hand
    Snd the beach front land
    And i get loco
    From acolpoco to japan
    Mr. whitey ford gets terrain explored
    You perpetrate that ford
    You must be out of your gourd
    It's time to make like greg nice, kid
    And praise the lord
    Keep the faith
    Smoke an eighth
    Until you stack the papers all up in my safe
    Commence the motivate
    Consume an altered state
    I'm killin' your whole wack show
    Like i'm edgar allan poe
    With the psychotic thriller
    No peckerwood iller
    Than this freckled-face man
    With the farmer's tan
    If i can't bomb on you
    I'm bombin' on your man

    Chorus
    Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains
    Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains
    Some get the powers, love, some get the papers
    Some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors
    Better...
    Praise the lord keep keep the faith (x4)

    I say roll to the rock
    Rock to the roll
    Whitey ford brings the devastatin' mic control
    Like derryl mcdaniel
    A hundred g's venue
    The tip's get clocked, baby
    The bond's get stocked
    My style gets rocked
    Just like doors get knocked
    With legendary status
    Like my name's lou brock
    And my lazairre sounds
    Be shakin' the grounds
    Huntin' down crews
    Like packs of bloodhounds
    Snatchin' off crowns
    And meltin' 'em down
    I once was lost, see
    But now i'm found
    Amazing grace
    How sweet the sound
    And when the saints come marchin' in (keep the faith)
    I'm messin' alpine white
    Classic rapper's delight
    All these shorties pullin' tools
    'cause they know they can't fight
    I bank my selections on worldwide connections
    So get the seven digits, baby
    Never burn your britches

    Chorus (x2)
    Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains
    Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains
    Some get the powers, love, some get the papers
    Some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors
    Better...
    Praise the lord keep keep the faith (x6)

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