Saturday, September 3, 2011


One for the money, yes sir, two for the show
But I ain’t steppin on the stage until they count up all my cash flow
Oh man, then your man’s going Twilight Zone
Want to be left along, again at home, listenin’ to Soulja Slim
I spread that dough out, rolling pins slice it up
With my closest friends as the grimey globe spins, I’m grinding
Trying to keep dirt off my rims and my name
Out c’here stay popping up at the red carpet
In my green Tahoe, with my Las Vegas bitch and one of your hoes
“Hi there!” I like what she working with,
that’s why we hired her
We pull up on the set, tattoo calligraphy letter Jets love
And respect, we passing you the fuck up
And passing you none of my bud that’s why you standing round us bruh!
Oh you accounted for, who brung you You don’t speak the code bro
You slick tone and hung you
You walking down the aisle with the same bitches we run through
I’m in the bank line, empire, I build this for us to eat
Inside is the lunch room, outside is looking wild hungry fool
Shut the door so they don’t see us, light a joint or two..

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