| One for my troubles, two for the money
|
| Haters feeling some kind of way and I don’t give a fuck, B
|
| Take the good with the bad, toastin', raisin' my glass
|
| Shorty want my attention, she backin' up that ass
|
| We fornicate, I’m all she ate, I’m puffin' on that loud
|
| High as a helicopter — I’m standin' on a cloud
|
| Livin' life to the fullest, and smokin' on that good shit
|
| Got to find a way to do it, and now you findin' excuses?
|
| Shorty, get with the movement — stop livin' that illusion
|
| The niggas you look up to is under my influence
|
| Yeah, your Grammy artists and your Moonman winners
|
| I’m the reason they even got a speech to deliver
|
| I’m certified hood, anywhere I go I’m good
|
| If you knew better you’d do better, you wouldn’t if you could
|
| The world is a cold place, got on my leather bomber
|
| My intent is foul with a smile, I’ll be Obama
|
| For what it’s worth, I don’t do the back and forth
|
| Let’s get it over, nigga, tell me to my face
|
| Everybody talkin' like a killer, I ain’t with it
|
| I say «do it, grow some balls, nigga, tell me to my face»
|
| Feelin' any kind of way, and do this shit night or day
|
| We don’t play with ‘em, we aim ‘em at your face
|
| I’ll tell you now, I ain’t playin' with you clowns, I never will
|
| Wipe that smile off your motherfuckin' face
|
| Yeah — when Ryan performing
|
| Diamonds on him looking like shining armor
|
| So when I die, you just supply my body with iron embalming
|
| I’m buying up everybody, from the highest to the hired informant
|
| By deploying words like a thesaurus, I’ve acquired employment
|
| From lying dormant, quiet as Mormons
|
| To buying up foreign properties, been my ongoing prophecy
|
| We’re all going in profits, war and robbery
|
| Fuck my trigger finger, the whole arm’s itching, I got the poison ivy
|
| I won’t stop until your eyes go mahogany
|
| This is my backyard barbecue flow
|
| I’m living by the honorable artistry code
|
| I went about as far as modesty goes
|
| And that’s good as gold, mind, body and soul
|
| I’m outside of me watching my body
|
| Embody god body till the inside of me
|
| Thinks quicker than the outside of me
|
| Pops mollies and drinks liquor
|
| So hiccup
|
| Either be a rhymer or be Vietnam
|
| Now run along and tell your complete circle to be around
|
| For day one, had that feelin' I would get that paper
|
| All my competition crumpled like vanilla wafers
|
| Ice runnin' through my veins, sippin' Hennessey, no chaser
|
| You know what I made’s a product of my environment
|
| Single for the soldiers on my team that ironed this
|
| The iron spit, yeah, and we cry «rich»
|
| Always on that fly shit, that real nigga fly shit
|
| Wildin', bangin' that Big «Ready To Die» shit
|
| Stylin' on these niggas then you know I throw up my shit |