| All I want to do is ride around shining while I can afford it Plenty ice on my neck so I don’t get nausious
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| Float around in the greatest of Porsches
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| Feel like a chuck wagon cause I’m on twelve horses
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| And the three behind mine they be the click
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| So much ice in they Rollies, the shit don’t tick man
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| Went in through the summer (whaaat) careless what it cost me While I’m shoveling the snow man call me frosty lova
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| This for the 100,000 dollar kitty German drivers
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| With big rims and low-pro tires
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| Fuckin’with college bitches with innocent looks like Mya
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| Corrupt they mind, turn 'em to liars
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| I groom 'em well
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| Dior whore, Christian Lacroix
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| Keep guns stashed under the floor board
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| Enough to start world war
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| Paradise in reaches, ho next to beaches
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| Hair pressed, blowin’in the wind, shit 'bout long as Jesus
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| I still leave speech for Gospel, so match this
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| Pusha push Don P keys with these sounds of crackness
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| The black Martha Stuart, let me show you how to do it
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| Break down pies to pieces, make cocaine quiches
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| Money piles high as my nieces |
| Hefty bags full of cash, cars full of ass
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| Rolex presidential, bitch, feel the glass
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| It’s that luck that astounds
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| Life’s a circus
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| I parade the sick through these clowns
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| The crown is vacant
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| I’m takin’the proper steps
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| I’m takin’them poppa steps
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| They prayin’for my downfall
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| Is it the bling, the king, conquistador
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| That my jeweler made the face blush on the Frank Mueller
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| The R shape peculiar, it’s awesome, layin’over dark skin
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| Lookin’like arson when I park in the left, it’s constant
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| Minute hand is like Parkinson’s
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| You a fish for the sharks to swim
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| In that opaque linen with the R colored stitchin'
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| V12 on a Modena you can see the pistons
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| HREs on it, Mommy see it glisten
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| When I make all-of-her twitch like Dickens
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| It’s feelin’like parts is missin'
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| Tops don’t push soul
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| Got it drive it like pole positions 'til my soul’s risen
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| Welcome to the world of Rollies
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| VS diamonds and that 50,000 dollar show piece
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| Got me shinin'
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| First nigga holla show me Let that 9 mm turn a fella ghostly
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| Hell, I’ll even grant amnesty to those who owe me You fuckin’faggot |
| You need to raise your glass and toast me Niggaz can’t figure the format for hustler criteria
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| Not chrome, grown rims with stallion insignia
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| Listen youngin', you’ve only just begun
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| You’ll understand when you’re older
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| Said father to the son
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| Who would’ve thought such riches stem from ill rhymes?
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| Canary yellow diamonds size of yield signs, slow down
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| And procede with caution
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| Carousal of horses with dual-exhaustion
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| Fess up, youngin’you’ll always be next up Go against I, forever play catch up nigga |