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lirik lagu the ring – finale & spier1200

finale & spier1200 ft. wordsworth, invincible, and jazz * “the ring”
[emcee(s): finale, wordsworth, and invincible]
[producer(s): spier1200]
[hook/vocals: jazz]
[sample (multiple elements): the impressions * “if you have to ask” (0:00)]

[verse 1: finale]
my day started with a serious game
of ronnie, bobby, ricky, and mike. i’m “mr
telephone man” with a dial tone, it’s on. i pick it up
it’s the boss. i’m fake*coughing i’m sick
he never bought my sh*t, and so i’m liable to quit. before we
get to it, get a “cl!ck.” it’s the one who call me “seed” like
“‘where the h*ll you been?’ ‘cause you move like the wind.” yelling
“i ain’t even tight. i just happened to forget what thе sun
looked like.” “you right, ma. hold on.” cl!ck! it’s middle
fingеr through the ringer. “cut a check, and i’ll be there to pick it up”
and then “cl!ck!” i’ve been bizzier than bone’s front man
understand i got a plan so, one day
we ain’t gotta owe rent but own land. know you mad at me
for being absentee, and i owe you. end of the week
keep looking for me to roll through. i’ma get involved
but sorry i’m expecting a “cl!ck!” where you at? around the block
the clock running, you still gotta move one of your beats
off the mp. n*gga, the pocket thinner
in a minute, you gon’ owe me. i ain’t p*ssed, just real
sometimes, i wish i would have skipped the bill
k!ll the ringer when i’m in the session. my girl’s stressing, and pressing
voicemail ain’t even the right choice for your female
just to tell, pick it up and catch h*ll. it’s funny
when some people don’t give reception to you at the end
of their beckoning, call, right? it started ringing like…
[hook: jazz]
yo, what up though?
(what up though?) let me get this
other (call)
can i get this other call?
hey you, how’ve you
been? (how’ve you been?) can i hit you
right back? (i swear)
(i’ll hit you back)

[verse 2: wordsworth]
the phone
is a gift and a curse. concerned of course, but i learned
that i can’t turn it off—i could be missing some work. troublesome
calls coming from strangers makes me more
vexed at the person that they met and got my number from
don’t give my number out in the midst of talking even if
they say i gave it to them once and then they lost it
probably never had it. wanna polly, but it’s habit. hit me
tomorrow. problems with the static on the average, gotta
hang up ‘til i hear the sound of the receiver’s tone
can’t speak alone around wifey using speakerphone
be at home with the celly on (uh huh), beef with time
on the telecomm. my crib is like a telethon
line’s busy—when it rings, i prolong. seems that i’m drawn
bring it along if the signal is strong. on the
internet, people that i talk to will feud with an instant
message now, people wanna talk in computers. just as
much as me, my girl’s on the phone, keeps in touch, so we
set it up mobile*to*mobile—between us, it’s free
no minutes lost when we talk unless we roam—then it costs
so we keep the ringer off—even during intercourse
vacation down in brazil seems far enough
where n0body would even call or try to bother us
calls from my manager, calls from my aunt and her mother
spend time together, talking to others. d*mn!
[hook: jazz]
yo, what up though?
(what up though?) let me get this
other (call)
can i get this other call?
hey you, how’ve you
been? (how’ve you been?) can i hit you
right back? (i swear)
(i’ll hit you back)

[verse 3: invincible]
ring the alarm
five more minutes, mom, before i hit the snooze b*tton
celly started singing along, i’m bending my arm
to pick it up and interrupt this dream i was having with drama
bring it on! believe me, you could only imagine. got
stalker types, telemarketers, and bill collectors
i’m telling ‘em, “don’t call us. we’ll call you,” like film directors
meaning i’m screening. if your number’s unknown, then
you can leave a message at the sound of the tone. remember getting
grounded from phones and being deep in woes. now wishing i could
throw it out the window of a moving vehicle, keep it low
got addicted to this walkie*talkie—copy!
calling, bawling hysterically definition of self*therapy
but it’s only a matter of time before your minutes
diminish—the battery’s dying. this expensive earring
attached to my skull like a torture device from the middle ages
soon as i get through, d*mn! the signal faded

- finale spier1200

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