Binkis Weblog

Oh, they sold they soul to make it on this album. Y’all lucky I can’t find that episode when they was on rapcity walking around in that joint barefooted. I was like damn son.

peep the site and you be the judge
http://www.blackcottoncollection.com

Since the god is outta of town. I’m holding down (goldi gold) the fort son, This is my dude day right here so i’ll try to fill the big homie shoes the best way possible

[Intro: NaS]

Mmm, Fried chicken
Fly vixen
Give me
Heart Disease
But need
You in my kitchen
You a bird, but you ain’t a ki
Got wings but you can’t fly away from me
Driving in your bucket seats
From Kentucky
To f**k with me
Look what you done to me
Was number one to me!
After you shower
You and your gold medal flour
Then you rub on with hot oil for half an hour
You in your hot tub, I’m looking at you salivating
Dry you off, I got your paper towel waiting
Lay you down cause you’re red hot
Louisiana style you make my head rot
Then I flock
To the bed then, “Plop”
When we done, I need rest
Don’t know a part of you that I love best
Your legs or your breast
Misses Fried Chicken, you gon’ be a nigga death
Created by southern black women
To serve massa, guest
You gon’ be a nigga death
Misses Fried Chicken
You was my addiction
Dripping with cholest’
Like Greeks with his felafel
Or Italians with his to-mato
Pasta
Or roti is to a Rasta
Trapping me
You and your friend mac and cheese
Candy yams, collard greens
But you knocking me to my knees
It’s killing me when I miss, ah
Nothing I need more than a fish fry