The Usual Suspects

Kushed God Bitch

Jonesie

Uh

Sometimes you just need to be serenaded with the instrumental

183rd shit

Uh

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight

Cookin' up a batch

Ladies show they titties

Real niggas tip they caps

Real trappers

For my hustler niggas with no choice

Posting up slanging that oh boy

Stay on your grind, only way to turn a 300 to a Rolls Royce

Life is good, nah, life is great, now I'm bout to get my niggas straight

God bless a nigga with some legal ones so I can stay off the interstate

Not everybody getting money, not everybody selling out shows

Not everybody toured the world like 4 times, 3 albums in stores, uh

From Australia up to Montauk I kill em with the Don talk

And when it comes to this indie bread, I'm the hip hop Thom Yorke

I'm too real for the radio heads, I'm an underground king

But these bitches can't stop my show and that's word to the Pimp

Low eating lobster and shrimp, all the bad bitches want to link

I'm like fuck with a real nigga and stop feeling bad for that simp

That's the other species, come sip some of this PJ

And smoke some of this sweet tree and everything will be geetchi

DZA

I told your bitch like Alex Rawls

Mister Jones, full riding laws

Pop my calls in a ride with paws

Got a lot of nines got a lot of fours

I'm a lane ward man got a lot of goals

Know how to get the kitchen like a lot of O

Know when to burn out, before it's time to go

I'm a highlight real so rewind it ho

Pick them up, out the pound

Lighting up every time the Saints get a first down

Hold the flow so you can show us right now

You can get a purse and some work right now

This mack hand ho, don't get the back hand

She change ghosts like Ms. Pacman

He paid a ho to come back fam

God damn!

They respect the don

18 karats with the red rubies and Piguets is on

Platinum Rolex, double roll bezel and walk around with Alexis on

Courtside in my concourse

With my niggas wiling out smoking out tours

Life's about choices, got to make yours

The right set of keys open up the right doors

Trying to turn a little something to a lot more

You gotta go a little further than you won't go

It's like a hundred out there had enough blow

I'm talking enough blow to make it be-low, ze-ro

I'm the underdog's he-ro

To that dope boy, praying for a kilo

To the little nigga praying for a way out

Keep your head up shorty we gonna make it out

Made it out now

Hella stamps in my passport

Overseas airport

Coming through the hood up in foreign cars

Bitch letting the weed flow

I'm hood rich, I can't change ho

Meeting smelling like weed smoke

Negotiate my record deal like a dope deal

Probably why a nigga take like a ki of dope

Nigga you need a plug

Uh

Top soft, but I grind hard to afford

To weld them switches to my dashboard

Lowriders and all, exotics to nascars

Amongst all these stars, seven grams in the raw

That's a Grammy award, in my granddaddy car

With my granddaddy Kangol, higher than a halo

Sliced like tomato, with precision on them blades ho

It don't go down until he say so

Extra cheese, hold the mayo

Got stacks in San Diego, now I'm hiding out

Large amounts to count, just fill them duffle bags and weigh them

Spitta slayed them, no Santa

She's thirsty, get a Fanta

Bitch passing out, somebody's Phantom

Drive-In Theatre

Fuck you thought this was