The Little Sambo by Jetto Saggio Lyrics

Quote from the song “The Little Sambo” by Jetto Saggio

The Little Sambo's a handful to handle
Fighting like a titan with dismantled sandals
Can you back off?
He's wax off the candle
Silly man scram, 'fore you really manhandled
Rotten egg niggas fixed scrambled
Spitting hot sand on samples off the top like Dish channels
Rhymes more consistent than Ripken mixed with Mantle
Hitting spliffs quick, with 90's kids in ripped flannels
Good golly!
He look sad but should probably look jolly
Cause tonight he's gonna LODI DODI!
Start the parties!
With niggas who sip Barcadi
Bitches in the kitchen, look its Molly!
Sniffin Molly, prolly naughty now!
Disregarding all her party fouls
Now she on the potty, throwing up her potty mouth
Poppy on the cell
But Molly don't want poppy to tell mommy
Said fuck it And popped another Ollie, forreal!
Then got the feel!
Shits real!
She lifted and she been sippin the liquor at will!
Eyeing up little Sambo
The Rapper cannibal
Chill as Hannibal Burress thirsting for a can of Danimals
Check his mandibles for first degree burns
Since the word for sure flammable
Hotter than ya camel toe, riding on a camel bro
Smoking Camel sticks
Golden sunset imagery
Depicted perfect bitch!
Lifted from the gift of a spliff
Rolled by the Driver
Posted high, eyes low
Supposed to open wider
A little difficult
But since it's cold he'll blend in
...and ain't nobody like it when they eyes froze
And they be squinting..
Yo! Forreal that shit's irritating
But the reason is the season
And he'll still be here baking
Bacon. Bake em like a cake in your basement
Raise thumb and middle to the little slug who hatin' (FUCK YOU.)
How's ya progress?
Slow? Oh no mojo?!
Got coast to coast flow so dope it's CO‐GO's Slush Puppies
Buffy want to blood suck me
Funk me, YES! I like it when it she funks me
Tryna give her reasons to not drink my O type
Oh right..
Listen close, mister grown nose guy
The man Sambo rambles in his dope rhymes, cancels to coke lines
But flows nice like Lime Coke on a cold night
Yumsayin doe like?
I'm rollin through the old crime sites, at night
And reminisce, remembering them kids get in fights
Living life trife, I ain't surprised
They unenlightened
I'm tryna delete the prefix, teach rhymes to brighten up the mind again
Within the lines, provide demise to lies
Revolution by the nuisance
Generation Y loose
Who you gunna shoot, kids!?
Man that's enough to scare ya
Tear ya hearts from ya assault and failure
And that is awful, terrible!
So I'm showboating these flows like sailors, with no errors
No chances, no fairness, no man with no fans can know damage I manage to the dopest man standing
You want dope, yo? I'll pose with a blow nose
Start snorting rapper ashes
Post Jackson bad ass cat
Attaching a passion for this rap shit bigger than a skyscraper architect
Awesomeness, opposites attract when I a spark a spliff
Start to make sense, like beggars on the parking bench
Reinvent the lost art of talking off in complex
It's nonsense to many but to Harvard this the hardest shit
Some would say the smartest shit
To me, just an artist with a lot of spit
Bars sick, coughin poems, bronchitis diagnosed
Living life tryna smoke the finest potent
Grinding slowly tryna find a grinder looking nice and cozy
Holding my Holy OG, closely
Stoner chicks lets get the toking
Shout out to the baddest bitch, Lavrinc
Keepin it packing
Like the last sac of hash we ripped
With Max and that fatty chick
I just need a fatty spliff, blunt, whatever, have me fixed
I'll keep it laid back, in fact, i need to relax a bit
(Ignites weeeeeeed)
C'mon, fire spliffs, higher, get wired spit tighter shit
Admire it like a minor signing with the Pirates
With a riser or a slider pitch
Flyer than a fighter jet
Shy bitch is tired, energize her with a Snyder stick (bitch)
Now that's swaggin' and I'm half that backwards
And I'm dashing at an average that a stat can't encounter (bitch)
8 sideways, pave the way to 8 highways on high rises
My lanes prize en route to the high ways...
Ya, and I'd say it's fair
Get out my business, nigga
Talking Laisse faire
It's Sodge, for short, Italian wise name forreal
Gotta constipated flow, what I say is ill
I'm tryna pay the bills
And tryna make a mill
But I find myself lying to the guy that made me real

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Credits, Cast & Crew of Song “The Little Sambo”

• Produced: Grateful DOOM
• Release Date:

Perfect Lyrics of the Song “The Little Sambo” Released in 2013

[Favorite Song Lyrics: song “The Little Sambo” with perfect lyrics for karaoke]

The Little Sambo's a handful to handle
Fighting like a titan with dismantled sandals
Can you back off?
He's wax off the candle
Silly man scram, 'fore you really manhandled
Rotten egg niggas fixed scrambled
Spitting hot sand on samples off the top like Dish channels
Rhymes more consistent than Ripken mixed with Mantle
Hitting spliffs quick, with 90's kids in ripped flannels
Good golly!
He look sad but should probably look jolly
Cause tonight he's gonna LODI DODI!
Start the parties!
With niggas who sip Barcadi
Bitches in the kitchen, look its Molly!
Sniffin Molly, prolly naughty now!
Disregarding all her party fouls
Now she on the potty, throwing up her potty mouth
Poppy on the cell
But Molly don't want poppy to tell mommy
Said fuck it And popped another Ollie, forreal!
Then got the feel!
Shits real!
She lifted and she been sippin the liquor at will!
Eyeing up little Sambo
The Rapper cannibal
Chill as Hannibal Burress thirsting for a can of Danimals
Check his mandibles for first degree burns
Since the word for sure flammable
Hotter than ya camel toe, riding on a camel bro
Smoking Camel sticks
Golden sunset imagery
Depicted perfect bitch!
Lifted from the gift of a spliff
Rolled by the Driver
Posted high, eyes low
Supposed to open wider
A little difficult
But since it's cold he'll blend in
...and ain't nobody like it when they eyes froze
And they be squinting..
Yo! Forreal that shit's irritating
But the reason is the season
And he'll still be here baking
Bacon. Bake em like a cake in your basement
Raise thumb and middle to the little slug who hatin' (FUCK YOU.)
How's ya progress?
Slow? Oh no mojo?!
Got coast to coast flow so dope it's CO‐GO's Slush Puppies
Buffy want to blood suck me
Funk me, YES! I like it when it she funks me
Tryna give her reasons to not drink my O type
Oh right..
Listen close, mister grown nose guy
The man Sambo rambles in his dope rhymes, cancels to coke lines
But flows nice like Lime Coke on a cold night
Yumsayin doe like?
I'm rollin through the old crime sites, at night
And reminisce, remembering them kids get in fights
Living life trife, I ain't surprised
They unenlightened
I'm tryna delete the prefix, teach rhymes to brighten up the mind again
Within the lines, provide demise to lies
Revolution by the nuisance
Generation Y loose
Who you gunna shoot, kids!?
Man that's enough to scare ya
Tear ya hearts from ya assault and failure
And that is awful, terrible!
So I'm showboating these flows like sailors, with no errors
No chances, no fairness, no man with no fans can know damage I manage to the dopest man standing
You want dope, yo? I'll pose with a blow nose
Start snorting rapper ashes
Post Jackson bad ass cat
Attaching a passion for this rap shit bigger than a skyscraper architect
Awesomeness, opposites attract when I a spark a spliff
Start to make sense, like beggars on the parking bench
Reinvent the lost art of talking off in complex
It's nonsense to many but to Harvard this the hardest shit
Some would say the smartest shit
To me, just an artist with a lot of spit
Bars sick, coughin poems, bronchitis diagnosed
Living life tryna smoke the finest potent
Grinding slowly tryna find a grinder looking nice and cozy
Holding my Holy OG, closely
Stoner chicks lets get the toking
Shout out to the baddest bitch, Lavrinc
Keepin it packing
Like the last sac of hash we ripped
With Max and that fatty chick
I just need a fatty spliff, blunt, whatever, have me fixed
I'll keep it laid back, in fact, i need to relax a bit
(Ignites weeeeeeed)
C'mon, fire spliffs, higher, get wired spit tighter shit
Admire it like a minor signing with the Pirates
With a riser or a slider pitch
Flyer than a fighter jet
Shy bitch is tired, energize her with a Snyder stick (bitch)
Now that's swaggin' and I'm half that backwards
And I'm dashing at an average that a stat can't encounter (bitch)
8 sideways, pave the way to 8 highways on high rises
My lanes prize en route to the high ways...
Ya, and I'd say it's fair
Get out my business, nigga
Talking Laisse faire
It's Sodge, for short, Italian wise name forreal
Gotta constipated flow, what I say is ill
I'm tryna pay the bills
And tryna make a mill
But I find myself lying to the guy that made me real