| Lotta shit happens, like, being in show business
|
| A lot of shit happens, like, like, I make a lot of money, you know
|
| And I’m really happy about it
|
| And I’m not bragging, I just wanna say something
|
| I make a so—fuck, it’s ridiculous
|
| But wait, wait a minute, wait a minute
|
| Hey, if my father was alive today, I would go home and say
|
| «Dad, I wanna tell you how much money I made»
|
| You know what he’d say? |
| «You's a lying motherfucker
|
| Joe Louis didn’t make that much money
|
| Come in here, get your ass out the house
|
| Coming here with that bullshit,» hah
|
| Niggas hating on me, I ain’t used to that
|
| Know a couple people wanna shoot for that
|
| I say «No, no, no, chill, it ain’t no need for that»
|
| Them niggas tryna blow and ain’t need me for that
|
| And if it work for them, well shit, I’m cool with that
|
| 'Cause how they feel, I ain’t got shit to do with that
|
| I just sit back on cool and watch my paper stack
|
| And trip off how much bread them crackers take from that
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| It’s been a long time since I have felt this way
|
| About something but now, but now
|
| I’m controlling my mind, the days are warm
|
| The nights are cold, the lost is found, I’m found
|
| Lord knows I need something to fill this void
|
| Lord knows I need something to fill this void
|
| Lord knows I need something to fill this void
|
| Lord knows I need something to fill this void
|
| Hell yeah boy, I’m a goddamn millionaire now
|
| Hell yeah, nigga, they can’t tell me shit now, bro, hell no, fuck that
|
| Bitch, got my first motherfuckin' million dollar check nigga
|
| I’m goddamn lit boy, you crazy as hell
|
| Hold up, it’s my phone real quick, it’s my Unc'
|
| Uncle Sam and shit
|
| «What's up Unc'? |
| Yup. |
| Hey, I told you that check was coming in, I gotchu when
|
| it came in. Goddamn, I’m a man of my word. |
| Goddamn, I told you I’ma have it,
|
| and goddamn, I’ma have it for you. |
| Hell, shit, damn right. |
| Now,
|
| how much was it though? |
| Uh huh. |
| Huh? |
| Half? |
| Half nigga? |
| You crazy, boy,
|
| you crazy. |
| Bitch, you crazy as fuck. |
| Bitch, bitch, you better suck half my
|
| dick!
|
| Yeah, I pay taxes, so much taxes, shit don’t make sense
|
| Where do my dollars go? |
| You see lately, I ain’t been convinced
|
| I guess they say my dollars supposed to build roads and schools
|
| But my niggas barely graduate, they ain’t got the tools
|
| Maybe 'cause the tax dollars that I make sure I send
|
| Get spent hirin' some teachers that don’t look like them
|
| And the curriculum be tricking them, them dollars I spend
|
| Got us learning about the heroes with the whitest of skin
|
| One thing about the men that’s controlling the pen
|
| That write history, they always seem to white-out they sins
|
| Maybe we’ll never see a black man in the White House again
|
| I’ll write a check to the IRS, my pockets get slim
|
| Damn, do I even have a say 'bout where it’s goin'?
|
| Some older nigga told me to start votin'
|
| I said «Democracy is too fuckin' slow»
|
| If I’m givin' y’all this hard-earned bread, I wanna know
|
| Better yet, let me decide, bitch, it’s 2018
|
| Let me pick the things I’m funding from an app on my screen
|
| Better that than letting wack congressman I’ve never seen
|
| Dictate where my money go, straight into the palms of some Money-hungry company
|
| that make guns that circulate the country And then wind up in my hood,
|
| making bloody clothes
|
| Stray bullet hit a young boy with a snotty nose
|
| From the concrete, he was prolly rose
|
| Now his body froze and nobody knows what to tell his mother
|
| He did good at the white man schools unlike his brother
|
| Who was lost in the streets all day, not using rubbers
|
| So right now, he got two on the way
|
| Still sleep on covers in his mama house
|
| She can’t take this shit no more, she want him out
|
| On the morning of the funeral, just as she’s walking out
|
| Wiping tears away, grabbing her keys and sunglasses
|
| She remember that she gotta file her taxes, damn
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
|
| (Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |