Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bread On the Menu, artist - Paul Wall. Album song No Sleep Til Houston, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 03.11.2012
Record label: Paul Wall, SMC
Song language: English
Bread On the Menu |
| Got the bread bread, bread on the menu |
| It’s all about my brick 45 bitch |
| You got the bread bread, got the bread on the menu |
| Money call clothes the type of… |
| Got the bread bread, bread on the menu |
| Got the bread bread, bread on the menu |
| Got the bread bread, bread on the menu |
| Get your, get your own bread I don’t gotta call the… |
| You already know I walk up in the corner store smelling like some dro' |
| Polo on my body got them Jordans on my toe (retro) |
| I’m covered up in ice my chest is twelve below (below) |
| Rolex on my wrist and I wear it like a pro (fo sho) |
| I’m at the Rockets game somewhere sittin' on the floor |
| I’m right behind the bench, I don’t even know the score |
| I’m leaning up the foe and I’m bout to post some more |
| I’m bout to hear the dreams holla at the homie though |
| I’m ridin with G look and be done in my bros |
| My mind on the paper so my pocket full of dough |
| Till they put me in the grave I’m a get it til I go |
| I got the dopest clothes that mean I keep protection |
| So much bread on me my pockets got a yeast infection |
| I got that Wonder Bread, Mrs. Baird’s, Nature’s Own |
| And I ain’t sharin shit bitch go make your own |
| Damn that’s a lot of dough yeah that Ciabatta ho |
| I’m offering drinks with so much ones liek guess a dollar store |
| You got that funny money you boys comedians. |
| my money talk so God damn bad |
| It’s disobedient. |
| The root of all evil, bread the sweetest sin. |
| Send me to hell, |
| hand me my plate bitch I’m gonna eat again |
| Wallet full of grands, I ain’t cooking biscuits |
| Got all my grub found out the size of my bank account terrific |
| My mind on my paper, my hand on my heater |
| A trill talk speaker and I speak it through ya speakers |
| Swisher full of reefer and a bottle full of sleepers |
| I’ll talk ya out ya money, I could’ve been a preacher |
| The truth can’t get deep but lies run deeper |
| So my pistol on my waste by my belt like a beeper |
| Posted on a block somethin' like a parking meter |
| My frontin money old, like them wild margaritas |
| I got a lot yards you come by the meter |
| I got a lot of drink and I pour by the liter |
| I gotta lot of hustles and some of them illegal |
| I’m a grind all day 'til I meet the Grim Reaper |