Lyrics:
Millions a fantasy, Juvenile's reality
Bitch I write my own checks bitch I pay my own salary
You want business with me
Boss playa ya have to be
I'ma million
knowin' the real
Eight figures a year, what it cost me to live
Don't hold it, just say what you feel but
Watch your mouth 'fore I fly out your bitch
Yeah, Project Baby
These streets took my conscience
Glee
Sniper Gang
These streets took my conscience
Yeah, everybody with me on that same
to get Project Pat caught up in this shizurb
Since you niggaz hate, then your plan didn't wizork
On that ATL tattle tale to my bizurbs
Say you saw me with
Alchemist you know me man
I'm the type of nigga that write rhymes
Right on the spot in the studio
Soon as I hear the track
You know what I'm sayin'?
What shit is this?
(Nobody cares)
I promise you they don't, bruh (yo)
How you diss me and nobody knows? (Nobody knows)
Check it
I'm tryna get
And now Ladies & Gentlemen, Lupe Fiasco
Filet mignon with my food stamps
Car cosigned by my mama
Medical card from Obama
Background check for
It's spooky
Ain't regular
No routine
Swerving by with a blunt in my mouth (Whoo)
Blew her brains out my gun in her mouth (Whoo)
Switching holes
Now I'm
only human, I'm not always in the best of moods
But thanks for giving the gift of rap to write my feelings down
And sorry for cursing sometimes but
the crowd
Snatchin the microphone real proud
But your rhymes are so booty you should write em on White Cloud
So next up down the line, Scrap Lover
[Scrap
The Goldielocks, rocks sapphire, chain is right
Bitch niggas, y'all watch what y'all say in ya mics, suckas
Aiyo, Rae, aiyo, Rae, check it out, yo
Let me go in
c pat on the head
that they take for audience laughter
c lot of “sir”s in the soup
c lot of speed
Treaty ink stained teeth
write themselves a grin
cash, only Cash App
Gripping a gat so I hope you don't act rash
Better to remain silent and not write checks
With your mouth if your ass can't cash that
the pressure on you
Put the extra effort on you
Write a motha fuckin letter to you and your editors too, threatin you
Detective check your mail and your
Check the scene boppers
Slaughterhouse, still standing
There was a murder last night
And the shit didn't really sit right with me
So I had
standing up to fight
Niggas witchu in the day
Gone by the night
Cause the streets a hungry
Full of appetite
Imma patron sipper
Dice flicker
Project hallway
Wake up and it's time to twist the blunt, where my blunt raps at
Bumpin' Project Pat, now I got a smokable Brush my teeth with orange juice, munchies
Who asked you to run your mouth?"
She was right though
It was time to take a trip down south
And to this very day, when I think of how
I was livin'
back
Cause when you come back niggas always click clack
Write my own shit, yeah my raps be the trap
Niggas they all cap and you know that’s a fact
Niggas
strugglin' on the grind
Got to feed the family chased by the one- time
But dem laws couldn't mace me
It take a hundred million motherfuckin' po po's
Vatos loco
For real had a Land Cruiser before my deal
Then I copped a 400 Lex and I'm set
Moving through the projects like Tyrannosaurus Rex
Shootin Tex
who ain't got no feelings
Keep your eyes open
No doubt, no doubt son, I got this
I got this
Just watch my back, I got the front, yo
Check it out now
for nines?
Damn, in your minds and in your hearts
Is the hate really that deep, what's truly goin on?
Knockin me for the words I write
For writin movie
like that nigga?
What the fuck I got to do not to get banged up by that trigga?
Cause in the projects, ain't no love
Niggaz will split yo wig cause they
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