| Got so much cake
|
| Damn I sold so much weight
|
| I’m in bed with two girls that’ll go both ways
|
| Cold days in the summer time
|
| They got me heated
|
| Got me looking up at Jesus like «God I don’t need this»
|
| Why the suckers try to be us
|
| It’s the mob
|
| I’ll leave that pussy bleeding
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| On the ground barely breathing
|
| Its drought season time to pay way more
|
| I love it because i make way more
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| Grade A Pure
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| For my nose
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| Got my face all froze
|
| Its twelve o’clock and got three cakes sold
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| And this game’s old
|
| But this money is great
|
| He got killed right in front of his place
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| Right in front of his kids
|
| What a way to go
|
| But the shooter got caught because his neighbors told
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| Two lives gone over money; |
| that’s sad
|
| Damn I hate it when it gets this bad
|
| Cheaa uhh uhh
|
| Cheaaa
|
| I pop up with the top down
|
| Hop out with the chop spit fifty rounds
|
| Cheaa life of a rock star
|
| My ice bright like the lights on the cop car
|
| Block stock broker
|
| Checking on the stock sections
|
| My money longer than your intestines
|
| We move blow at a fast pace
|
| Come up short on the dough and get the gashed face
|
| I got so much dope
|
| Damn i sold so much dope
|
| In the kitchen cooking so much coke
|
| Like that’s all i know
|
| Light the kush up
|
| Pour that fo'
|
| Life’s a bitch
|
| But i’m on that hoe
|
| I get on that road
|
| Outfit four days old
|
| Wrap 'em up
|
| And in four days sold
|
| This the life i chose
|
| I know its wrong but that’s how shit goes
|
| So I’m thugging it til I get old
|
| Close knit clique
|
| Every nigga with me play his role
|
| Niggas know they position
|
| All focused on one mission
|
| Any nigga go against this
|
| Then that nine clickin'
|
| This here is an army
|
| Front line
|
| Momma always said life was hard
|
| And I need to get right with God
|
| But I feel I’m out here hustling for a righteous cause
|
| It’s fucked up in this life evolved
|
| Cheaa uhh uhh
|
| Cheaaa
|
| I pop up with the top down
|
| Hop out with the chop spit fifty rounds
|
| Cheaa life of a rock star
|
| My ice bright like the lights on the cop car
|
| Block stock broker
|
| Checking on the stock sections
|
| My money longer than your intestines
|
| We move blow at a fast pace
|
| Come up short on the dough and get the gashed face
|
| I got so much cash
|
| Damn I’m moving so much hash
|
| Four pounds in a duffle bag
|
| Now you do the math
|
| Plus i got so much grass
|
| Fuck the white girl I’m moving the black
|
| Now who fucking with that
|
| D boy all my life I just started rappin'
|
| Fake niggas they all fold like a fucking napkin
|
| One store four pots in the microwave
|
| Young fifty rich bitch I’m tryna get paid
|
| Ask them niggas out of town they say i got it boomin'
|
| Bad bitches sending money through the Western Union
|
| And I tell 'em run it in bitch I need mine
|
| Because the kid all about a fucking dollar sign
|
| My nigga lil blunt
|
| He sending white hoes
|
| While you other niggas just try to wife hoes
|
| Broke all your life
|
| Ain’t gon' never have nothing
|
| But get up on this bitch and do a whole lot of fronting
|
| Feel me nigga
|
| Cheaa uhh uhh
|
| Cheaaa
|
| I pop up with the top down
|
| Hop out with the chop spit fifty rounds
|
| Cheaa life of a rock star
|
| My ice bright like the lights on the cop car
|
| Block stock broker
|
| Checking on the stock sections
|
| My money longer than your intestines
|
| We move blow at a fast pace
|
| Come up short on the dough and get the gashed face |