2 Milli

[Soulja Boy]

I did what I wanted, n-ggas did what they could

a lion wouldn't cheat but a Tiger would

I only keep real n-ggas in my stable

a million dollar chain, I'm feeling like Gucci's label

so icey I really don't care

haters green as a pool table and they twice as square

had to cut a couple b-tches, them n-ggas need stitches

I'm getting money out the tree y'all n-ggas getting switches

similar to Nas, I need a mic though

chop the bread up, Tae Kwon Do

they pass me the game like Tom Brady

these rappers chances looking slim just like shady

[Verse 2]

n-ggas locked behind my bars Im taking out prisoners

sit back relax recieving my residual

think this song is dope sh-t wait til you see the visual

please brace yourself this sh-t about to get critical

let it be known I got rappers on my hit list

I got so many gifts you would swear I stole Christmas

word to the Grinch b-tch my style will switch quick

i knew this all along I was waiting just to hit the kill switch

since day one man your boy been the truth

broke so many records like I'm in the glass booth

like I'm in the glass studio breaking out barriers

back when crime mob was screaming Ellenwood Area

n-gga I aint scared of ya, never ever will be

I'm screaming I'm the best till these rappers kill me

make the people feel me like the blind men do

on your girl head so much like her favourite shampoo

lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com

I'm travelling where I want, soulja's vacation

my mind is so free, emanicapation proclamation

Im so hot, haters evaporating

6 b-tches on my d-ck I'm elimidating

Im high every friday just like smokey

Im spitting real sh-t, these n-ggas spitting Karaoke

hit stick with the flow just like Madden

Im so high on my carpet feeling like Alladin

I spit hot flames b-tch just like a dragon

and my pants saggin

spell it backwards n-ggas

n-ggas get heated when they see the coupe on

i dont give a f-ck got my Pyrex suit on

I'ma keep rapping til the fans hear the best of me

Im cooking up the game b-tch yeah I got the recipe

you aint gotta like me just please respect it

hip hop is dead n-gga let me resurrect it

microphone check it, uno, dos, tres,

I'ma keep spitting til they crown me the best

the rap games a mess, let me clean it up

its a pigsty they going ham give it up

[Verse 3]

flying down the highway a million on the dashboard

you cant start my car up unless you got the password

I'm something like a prophecy spit so properly

when my album drops watch how many rappers copy me

haters opinions are obsolete

don't make pop music so it ain't no pop in me

and my brains a b-tch where she at when I need her

ya pack nines, I pack nine kilometers

ya did'nt want beef why would ya start it

cameras flashing like you walking down the red carpet

first you was nameless now imma make you famous

hit you with the stainless and leave your ass brainless

best rapper…

[End]