(Verse)
|
Cookin up a batch, ladies show they titties
|
Real niggas tip they tops
|
Real trap is for my hustling niggas with no choice
|
Posted up, slingin that oh boy
|
Stay on yo grind, only way to turn a 300 to a Rolls Royce
|
Life is good, nah life is great
|
Now I¡¯m bout to get my niggas straight
|
God bless a nigga with some legal ones so I can stay off the interstate
|
Nah, now everybody getting money
|
Now everybody sellin out shows
|
Now everybody told the world like four times
|
3 albums in stores
|
Come on straight up the morning talk
|
I came in with the gun talk
|
And when it came to this in this bread
|
I¡¯m the hip-hop turn me up
|
I¡¯m too real for the radio heads, I¡¯m a underground king
|
But these bitches can¡¯t stop my show
|
And that¡¯s word to the pim
|
Loadin lops and shrimp, all these bad bitches wanna lay
|
I¡¯m like fuck with a real nigga and stop feelin bad for that sim
|
That¡¯s the other see she¡¯s
|
Come sip some of this PG
|
And smoke some of this sweet tree
|
And everything will be BG
|
|
(Verse)
|
Uh shit, I told yo bitch like I was rolls
|
Mister Jones, go around the laws
|
Got my calls and the rob reports
|
I done lied em down, down the 94
|
I¡¯m a label man, got a lot of those
|
Know how to get the picture but them lot of O
|
No winter burn off so it¡¯s time to go
|
I¡¯m on hot like wheels so we runnin hoe
|
Getting up, out the pound
|
Lighten up the return, it¡¯s thanksgiving first down
|
Hold the flo so you can chase right now
|
You can get the bracelets to fit right now
|
Just mack hand, hold on get the back hand
|
She chase ghosts like Mrs. Pacman
|
He play the hoe to come back fam
|
Goddamn!
|
|
(Verse)
|
They respect the don, 18 karats with the red rugas and the gas is on
|
Platinum Rolex, double robe
|
So walk around with a Lexus on
|
Courtside of my car cost
|
When my niggas wildin out, smoking out toss
|
Life¡¯s about choices, gotta make yours
|
The right set of keys open up the right doors
|
We tryna turn around something to a lot more
|
You gotta go a little further than you wanna go
|
It¡¯s like 100 out there, had enough blow
|
I¡¯m talkin bout blow and make it B roll, a zero
|
I¡¯m the other dogs¡¯ hero
|
To that dope boy playin for a kilo
|
Til a lil nigga playin for a way out
|
Keep you head up Shawty, we gon make it out
|
Made it out now, turn the stamp, see my passport
|
Overseas airport
|
Comin through the hood, up in foreign cars
|
Bitch letting the weed flow
|
I¡¯m hood rich, I can¡¯t change hoe
|
Need to smell like weed smoke
|
Negotiate my record deal like a dope deal
|
Probably why a nigga take like a kill go
|
Nigga you need you a prop
|
Goddamn!
|
|
(Verse)
|
Talk soft but I grind hard to afford
|
Don¡¯t want them switches to my dashboard
|
Low riders and all, exotics to last cars
|
Amongst all these stars, 7 grams in a row
|
That¡¯s a Grammy award and my granddaddy call
|
Where my granddaddy can¡¯t go higher than the halo
|
Slice like tomato with precision on them blades hoe
|
It don¡¯t go down until he say so, extra cheese, hold the mayo
|
That¡¯s back to San Diego, now I¡¯m hidin out
|
Large amount to count, just fill them duffle bags and weigh em
|
Spill just lay them, no fana
|
She¡¯s thirsty, get a Fanta
|
Bitch passin out, somebody fan er
|
|
-----------------
|
The Usual Suspects
|
Curren$y |