Crime Wave - Jamie Randolph



     
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Crime Wave Lyrics


Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
When the strap out you know what that 'bout
We do it my way 'cause a crime wave
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
I wave the heat deep with my right to speak
Leave the clip y'all and talk shit y'all
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
I'm not tellin' you to shoot somebody
But if somebody try to shoot you shoot 'em
Don't waste time, lil' nigga just do it
Any nigga out of order must be serviced
See now now you hesitatin' boy you makin' me nervous
The Feds know I clap heat felonies on my rap sheet
Front on me try to run from me hollows be up your back B
Pistol pop, dime for dime, burn, baby, burn
Revolver spinnin again and again you niggas never learn
Got a itchy, itchy, itchy, itchy trigger finger nigga
So if you hit me and you get me I'll be back to get ya

Man I might bring the homies in that's if it's necessary
See you might not be worried but I think you should worry
Them bullets come in flurries next thing you know you're buried
Yeah, I do away with nine niggas in nine days
My nine sprays, which it don't go my way
Hold it sideways, fuck around 'cause a crime wave
When the strap out you know what that 'bout
We do it my way 'cause a crime wave
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
I wave the heat deep with my right to speak
Leave the clip y'all and talk shit y'all
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I talk about my arsenal, I rap about my infantry
Them crackers they be scared of me, the hood man, they into me
Yeah, I'm number one on Forbes
Yeah, they can't fuck witcha boy
'Tack time is crank time, I flip that, get that back
Louie V knapsack filled up with G-stacks
I'm sick in the head, me I'm all 'bout the bread
Go 'head fuck with the kid, see it's just what I said
See the stash I'm makin' double makin' kilos bubble
Jim stop, boy I cut you 'til your ma don't know you
See when we play them warriors come out to play
You wanna play? Get your ass laid out today
See I'm back on the shit I was on before
So if a nigga try to stunt, we gon' take 'em to war
When the strap out you know what that 'bout
We do it my way 'cause a crime wave
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
I wave the heat deep with my right to speak
Leave the clip y'all and talk shit y'all
Whoa, wave, whoa, wave
Oh yeah, oh yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Man, I be on some other shit, these niggas can't fuck with me
Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
The homie said he fuck with me, I have him hit ya up for me
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Enjoy the lyrics !!!
Rock-n-roll, blues, and barbecue, this is Memphis to you, me, everybody. You would think that every Memphis musician spent his infant years rocking ever-so-soulfully on the back beat of a bar-playing blues hound. Don’t fall prey to the hype.

Jamie Randolph had his beginnings in the cozy suburbs of the big city under the watchful eyes of his supportive parents and the Church. Think what you will. But every true artist has his past to thank. Rather than following in the footsteps of so many with the same beginnings, Jamie used his upbringing to fuel his own musical birth. Church became Jamie’s home away from home where he would hone his skills, develop his voice, and pound out songs on the piano by ear.

An accomplished songwriter, guitarist, and rock pianist, Jamie brought his fair share to the table when he joined Retrospect in 2001. This Memphis-based band earned regional buzz, landing “Forgetting Evelyn” on local and college radio, receiving accolades from The Recording Academy and the placing high in the GRAMMY Independent Music Showcase.

It is from this springboard that Jamie now comes to us, merging his history and talent. His new band, Jamie Randolph and The Bloodsuckers, pumps out an enduring swill that exposes Jamie’s eclectic musical palate and love for dark imagery and (literally) vampires. Rich, melodic grit becomes the time-warped testimony and bold exploration of life’s flipside that fuels his irreverent compulsion to know what hurt is and the beauty it creates.

This artist relentlessly weds alt-country, theatrical indie-rock, and life-worn lyrics in a cathartic purge to rid hard memories by making them trophies of aesthetic cadence. When you hear Jamie Randolph, you’ll be tempted to compare him to Ryan Adams, Hem, Counting Crows, and Elliot Smith even as you hear deep undertones of Fiona Apple and Miles Davis. The shared quality with these milestone artists is his ability to experience and transpose the beauty that is born from the ashes.

His forthcoming album, Villain, will effortlessly lull you into an inverted world where pain becomes joy and unbridled expression becomes art. With engineer/producer Matt Martone (Magazine – Jump Little Children, 3 Doors Down) at the helm you can trust the twangy, darkly symphonic surge that sweetly invites you to light a cigarette, sit on a humid porch at night, and re-orient your memories into the forgotten beauty that lurks in their corners. Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.

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Jamie Randolph