Lyrics:
to the album everybody that called
Everybody that show love and show they support, man
It's to the top, man, I'm broke
We gon' do it, man It's weekend, it's
thank ol' me
We celebrating, you hatin' on a real one
All the L's that I took, man I still won
Big bank rolls coming at you
West Coast king, man, I
wouldn't be able
Cause I'm the man with the hand that rocked the cradle, uhh
A lot of punk for the chunk baby that's a bet
Album number seven and we still
know
A nigga tried to shoot me down and shit
You know and, I don't know man it just feel good to be here man
YouknowhatI'msayin?
And I want
don't see myself
Cause I'm too busy tryna be someone else
Or something else, man there's more to life
Or am I blinded by the ones I idolise?
Sat with idle
real.
I'm 'bout to do my thing to shine.
Said everybody
Shine.
See'mon."
It's not luck that I'm sittin' here
Spittin' for y'all.
Preeld in by
Take off ya clothes to go gold, sell ya soul to live lavish
[Verse One]
It seems every man want to be a pop star
It's obvious to me that you forgot who
your face in a minute
Been looking, nowhere to be seen
Man, where you been? Checking for your new songs daily
The wait gets worse by the week
I wonder
Look with all your peeps stop playing by the same rules
And then they go acting brand new the brand lose
It's cool I make those grown man moves
No
that I'm back here
Got a feelin' that it's that clear
So much change, I been feelin' like a cashier
Man, this last year
Was a motherfuckin' trap full
gonna do when it comes to music
It is therapeutic you ain't a Fallen Angle, but you left me By Myself
Man, I miss you bro
Think about you everyday bro
I
[Intro: Young Jeezy]
Yeah, be the realest shit I never wrote
I ain't write this by the way nigga, some real shit right here nigga
This'll be
Yeah be the realest shit I never wrote
I ain't write this shit by the way nigga
Some real shit right here nigga
This will be the realest shit you
Dj khaled, we're the best, nigga we're the best man
Whoo we nikka (listen)
Just got a hundred of that brown paper bag money
You niggas really
don't touch the crown
By the way, that's Uncle Brown
A gyal dem a run me down, cuh
Ayy, look Stormz this is soul baby
The kind of soul that gave
Stella
thugs from the R-O-C
Sigel Sigel in the house
Uh-huh, sick bastard
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer
Uhh, uhh, Memph Bleek in
from the R-O-C
Sigel Sigel in the house
Uh-huh, sick bastard
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer
uh, uh, Memph Bleek in the house
goin on, on and on and on
On and on and on
Yo I've been treading on this globe man for twenty-five joints
Sometimes Shaitan got me by the pressure
thugs from the R-O-C
Sigel Sigel in the house
Uh-huh, sick bastard
Get your wig pushed back by the wig push-backer
Uhh, uhh, Memph Bleek in
don't understand i'm misunderstood
Give Interscope two more albums
Then I'm done for good
Sold 10 million records, ain't leave the hood
It's a cold world,
for me
First the one
And then came the two and three and four
Five, six, seven, shots from a MAC-11
Platinum producer killed by haters
Tonight
the only one fucking with me
Myself, so put your album right
Back on the shelf
And let real business get dealt
You ladies man like Leon Phelps
I pee on any
a dead man)
You're officially dead, from now on you are now marked for death
(Marked for death lil nigga!)
I'm a fill you up wit lead, from now on you are
DONT UNDERSTAND
They
Don’t understand
I am
The man
They thought
I was nothin
But I got the plans
Walk in
The club and
I’m throwing
Some
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