30,000 for the DNA swab, don’t quit your day job
You batty boys ain’t even on my radar
Order breast of veal at Walt Frazier’s
Dog, my women come in all flavours, fold paper, Lord save us
Complete a drug deal in a rental rented from Avis
Best believe my motherfuckin’ Timberlands poundin’ the pavement
Dog, I lay with hoes and smoke butter the same colour as Jalen Rose
Stand on the balcony naked… just screaming: “Fuck it, I made it!”
Every meal I eat’s steak to make a statement, Patrick Bateman
30 Mexicans in the basement, let’s get it shakin’
The whole block smellin’ like bacon
My shorty keep it real…
Take a shit out the car window, hide money in a Nintendo
Got a degree in Dental, cook like she down in the Delta
Wrestle the ‘gator for the foot display
River Monsters, Dog The Bounty Hunter
Open-Bally stuntin’, it’s a Southern Cali summer, bitch
It’s me…
It be the novelist, bare-handed choke a hippopotamus
I need to go to Drug-Dealing Anonymous
Cheerio – ship-flip like Rey Mysterio
Me laid up with big money be the scenario
Out the Wash Blue or Canary, it’s coo-coo
Let my man who just came home throw a party where you poo-poo
Uh – that is not a nice thought
Get locked up in the afternoon, I’ll make it out by night court
Uh – Lord, ’cause I don’t see that world
I’ve got the lawyer on retainer like a teenage girl
Eatin’ Chicken Parmesan in a holding cell
My feet up, hittin’ my G-pen, yeah, you know me well
Quadraple black Coupes, smack you if you act stupid
No love here, motherfuckers, I’ll clap cupid
Jump in a black Buick, then make a sharp right
My mother’s wrist is so cut, looks like a shark bite
And when I play the guitar I’m always on acid, uh…
She said I looked like David Jessop
When she seen me floatin’ in the Maxima
It’s me…
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
