| My top down, your name hot now
|
| But when I was out here
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| Nigga you was not 'round
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| Was in the game, but I just watch now
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| I did rims so my shit stock now
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| Suede, hit, lining on the roof
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| Don’t be lyin' on the facts
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| Niggas lyin' in the booth
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| When we travel around the world
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| We flyin with a suitcase, stamped
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| Louis Vuitton, with Cuban cigar
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| Miami, Ocean Ave, couple beautiful broads
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| On the back of motorbikes
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| Ain’t no use for a car
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| I’m outta town, so the coupe is at large
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| And this, jealous of success, niggas usually are
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| But, I don’t give a fuck
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| I ain’t trippin though
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| Nigga gettin desperate
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| While I’m getting dough
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| Oh you love that bitch? |
| Better get yo' ho
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| And I ain’t gotta tell you why, You already know
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| Once in a lifetime shit
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| She ain’t never been fucked in a drop top benz
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| That’s why when I pull up she quick to get in
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| I’m a boss, young nigga get some paper and a pen
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| Class is in session, rap till I’m restless
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| Cuz constant repitition is the path to progression
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| Class is in session, rap till I’m restless
|
| Cuz constant repitition is the path to progression
|
| Take that and run with it, you should get some cash
|
| Way back as young niggas, we was livin' fast
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| Heavy on the grind, South Central State of mind
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| Type of nigga to buy a pound, and break it all down in dimes
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| Baby blue regal, 1985
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| Gold rollie on my neck, 380 on my spine
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| It was a lot of things that was runnin through my mind
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| All of which I would bring to myself, in due time
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| And now I’m watchin ring put a strain on her eye
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| Fireworks on my sleeve, the 4th of July
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| Waist line Louis, stay fly truly
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| Can’t fuck with me with a rubber or a roofie
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| Hoes try to choose me, haters try and shoot me
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| Feds wanna book me, and these bitches wanna screw me
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| Ex-street nigga turned boss, that’s the routine
|
| And you would have extras if your life was a movie
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| Catch my breath that’s a whole lot of words, you know
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| This is the marathon
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| New shit, Neighborhood Nip Hussle, let’s get it |