Praise The Lord Lyrics

from Whitey Ford Sings The Blues

"Praise The Lord" is track #7 on the album Whitey Ford Sings The Blues. It was written by Schrody, Erik/mays, Greg O./barnes, Darryl Otis/brooks, Eric/elam, Keith/martin, Chris E..
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"Praise The Lord" is track #7 on the album Whitey Ford Sings The Blues. It was written by Schrody, Erik/mays, Greg O./barnes, Darryl Otis/brooks, Eric/elam, Keith/martin, Chris E..
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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
I'm like an acid trip
I'll flash it back on ya, run it up on ya
I'm born in Hempstead, L.I., raised in California

Mister entrepreneur, I rock the shot that's sure
I need a dime plus more, I've sipped the fine liqueur
I want the cash in hand and the beach front land
And I'll get loco from Acapulco to Japan

Mister Whitey Ford gets terrain explored
You perpetrate that fraud you must be out your gourd
It's time to make like Greg Nice, kid, and praise the Lord
Keep the faith

Smoke an eighth
Continue stackin' papers all up in my safe
Commence to motivate, assume an altered state
And kill your whole whack show like I'm Edgar Allan Poe

With a psychotic thriller
No pecker wood's iller
Than this freckle-faced man with the farmer's tan
If I can't bomb on you I'm bombin' on your man

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
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors

Better
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith

Say roll to the rock, rock to the roll
Whitey Ford brings the devastatin' mic control
Like Darrell McDaniel, a hundred G's annual
The tips get clocked, baby, the bonds get stocked

My style gets rocked just like doors get knocked
With legendary status like my name's Lou Brock
In my lands are 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

I'm Nestle Alpine White, classic rapper's delight
All these shorties pullin' tools 'cause they know they can't fight
I bank my selections on world wide connections
So get the seven digits, baby, never burn your bridges

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
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors

Better
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith

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
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors

Better
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith

Songwriters
SCHRODY, ERIK/MAYS, GREG O./BARNES, DARRYL OTIS/BROOKS, ERIC/ELAM, KEITH/MARTIN, CHRIS E.

Published by
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, EMI Music Publishing, CHRYSALIS MUSIC GROUP

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