Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song $ad Millionaire (Feat. Brownstone), artist - Luniz. Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
$ad Millionaire (Feat. Brownstone) |
| Oh, oh, ohhh |
| Oh, oh, ohh, hey |
| Verse 1 *(Yukmouth)* |
| Uh |
| Niggas be havin the mutha fuckin blues |
| Like 5−0-5's |
| I won’t lie |
| Homicide |
| Gram will cry |
| Pray for me that I won’t die |
| Suicide |
| I won’t try |
| Bullets fly |
| Drive-by |
| Don’t let it slide, do or die |
| You an I, slide by |
| Catch them niggas off my side |
| Wit nothin to hide body die rot |
| On they porch |
| When I expectin some sort of drive-by |
| Type retaliation |
| Under styles I lace, MOBBulation |
| Lets begin breakin down the situation |
| When, the end of our frustration |
| So while we racin down the block, wit a thirty-eight, an Glock |
| The cops is waitin to umm |
| Accelerate on yo vehicle |
| Run down yo vehicle |
| Even if they have to gun down yo vehicle |
| Nigga, up in these high-speedaz |
| Police they be the Rosco P. Coltrane |
| Swervin in an outta lanes |
| Runnin from O-H-A |
| With a throw-away |
| A throw-away |
| Pistol |
| Every mutha fucka wanna peep |
| Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)* |
| Millionaire! |
| Dreams of big millions play |
| Ever seen a sad millionaire? |
| I thought that money make us happy |
| Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)* |
| What if I was a millionaire |
| Huh |
| A major playa on the block |
| That a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn’t stop |
| Hella strap happy |
| Cuz niggas slangin all my rocks |
| Point yo gats at me |
| I don’t know where uzis to yo knot |
| Fo fuckin wit the big shot |
| I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the ground |
| Be down |
| That’s one of my shit, an get shot |
| Only the baddest bitches jock |
| Get chosen |
| Global shouts |
| For bitches out there who be voguin |
| On the collar of poppa |
| Brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa |
| Where niggas strapped fo real, like Chubacca |
| Who got the gonga |
| Cuz I be high like phone doctor |
| Spark on vodka |
| Eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra |
| Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot ya |
| Like Vinny Blanca |
| Come back in the end juss to haunt ya |
| Plus I twist a Benz like Big Poppa |
| What’s the big proper use |
| Go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be a |
| Millionaire playa |
| Verse 3 *(Yukmouth)* |
| Uh |
| You niggas juss created a monsta |
| Fuck a type, I smoke gonga |
| In the Bahammas |
| Fuckin yo baby mama |
| Doggystyle (whoo, wee!) |
| Two wow, you wow |
| Doubt man |
| Who wow «Bout it, Bout it» |
| Niggas be claimin they be the Ice Cream Man |
| But I doubt it, doubt it |
| Be rowdy |
| Hit the paper chasin clout it |
| Sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot |
| Smokin blunts, an crunchin weed, sex |
| Fresh outta drug rehabs |
| Spend two g’s at every function I be at |
| Believe that, BITCH! |
| Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot |
| Grab bitches by the throat-a-lot |
| That’s what ya told the cops |
| I hold the Glock |
| Aim it an fire |
| Retire another nigga |
| Nameless |
| Game is fo hire |
| Desire chariots fire |
| Light as I’m a tuck her |
| We’re so called «potnaz», fuck 'em |
| An dust em off wit a choppa, I can’t rush 'em |
| Gotta bust 'em |
| Too skinny I can’t trust 'em |
| An when the mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to love 'em |
| An that’s fo real |
| Nigga |
| Have all this fuckin money, an still ain’t happy. |
| Nigga, still got |
| Problems wit stress, mutha fuckaz juss think you got it made, they try |
| To rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you. |
| Fuck |
| Money, I wish I didn’t have it, cuz when I didn’t have it it was all |
| Good, niggas loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the store |
| Now ya got money everybody wanna kill me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna |
| Do you, skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks |
| Millionaire |