| You can’t have no friends in real life
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| When all you do is bag up grams and sell white
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| Gotta find some way to stash these bands
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| And hide this cash
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| If they trip over my stash they set for life
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| I recognize it’s hard to get it and keep it
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| Easy to jeopardize
|
| Risk ain’t worth the reward, pay it no never mind
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| Take it in stride and if worse comes to worst
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| You always board your first, never your second mind
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| Mind your business and never mix business with friendship
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| Cause friends be the ones in the end when it’s all said and done
|
| Who can you call? |
| Who can you run to?
|
| Will they come through on the humble?
|
| Or will they drop the ball and fumble
|
| I wouldn’t be surprised
|
| I’ve seen it all out my own two eyes
|
| Before he died my uncle
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| Said, «if you let it slide it’ll come back to haunt you»
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| 400 thousand
|
| I got all of this money and can’t trust a soul to help me count this
|
| 400 thousand
|
| Now the kush and the bricks got me pushing whips that ain’t even out yet
|
| 400 thousand
|
| Know how you know you getting money when you spend a thousand dollars on an
|
| outfit
|
| 400 thousand
|
| I got all of this money and can’t trust a soul to help me count this
|
| 400 thousand
|
| My son asked what’s the most money I ever counted
|
| I told him 'bout $ 460,000
|
| All dope money from whipping ounces
|
| Slow rolling them snow bunnies in Clinton Township
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| The bastards tried to give me 'bout six
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| For transacting them graham crackers of that brown shit
|
| Had me surrounded
|
| They jammed traffic, the vans in back of them Crown Vics
|
| But they never found shit
|
| During the fed run-ins, out in southwest
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| Used to have to get plugged into the outlet
|
| Bagging up in the house, stressed, ask Justin
|
| Man, I used to have nothing, but now I’m rich
|
| No more out of town trips, jumping on the road
|
| No change of clothes, same old outfit
|
| In the natty we hit the outlet
|
| What I blew on vintage True Religion denim could’ve bought a couch set |