Lyrics:
Ayy, Jeffery
Rich Gang or don't bang, know what I'm sayin'?
Goddamn, money gettin' type of shit
Yeah, yeah
Ayy, I promise I won't ever switch up
motherfucker! Tha Big Boss of the South
And I don't just talk it wit my mouth
I back it up wit my vow
Before Jimmy cut the check, it was 50 on my neck
y'all
The world so small
It's big as a golf ball
Just like them perfect titties
It's pressing against the wall
And while we tossing dollars
They be
to challenge
Why would a Hitman Holla?
They move in silence i'm used to violence
I got a gun big enough to
Shoot it and lose my balance jag a Blood
If he blast
and a album
I'm gon' get high as fuck in the Phantom
I'm gon' mix it up with my brothers
Tell your mama, say that I love her, I'm gettin' rich on these
big but I'm not rich (Not rich)
I know hella niggas in my circle that are toxic (Toxic)
I drink my problems away like alcoholics
Hello (Hello), hey how
Why they gotta say it like $hort? Bitch
You know they can't play on my court
Can't hang with the big dogs, stay on the porch
Blow the whistle
Blow
talk of mental
Illness on the album at one
Point in the track "Sunday, " you and
Frank Ocean rap in unison
"What good is West Coast weather if you're
No dey only call on me
When you want my money
Na that time you go call on me
Why you only call on me
When you want my money
Say baby don't call
[Swizz beatz]
Let's get it started, get it started
Let's keep it started, keep it started
Yeah, yeah, violator the album
Go, go, go!!
[l
I just dumped out a whole bunch of fry deals
I'm just kinda fried, I don't know why
I just popped up eatin breakfast askin why
(Big Moe)
too)
Other day it was a fighting population
This lil' dude try to shank me with a Popsicle stick
Almost got his face knocked out by this West Coast cat
too)
Other day it was a fighting population
This lil' dude try to shank me with a Popsicle stick
Almost got his face knocked out by this West Coast cat
music, but y'all say albums
For niggas who got the long bids and lost they values (uh huh)
Look, it's crazy up in Attica, they wildin' up in Sing Sing
way to help my momma once I get rich
I be the one they wanna be like, and I barely see why
I ain't ever had to rewrite, and I never think twice
Yeah,
Big Latto (Pooh, you a fool for this one)
(Oh Lord, Jetson made another one)
It's givin' boss bitch (boss bitch)
It's givin' boss bitch (boss
Why they gotta say it like $hort? Bitch
You know they can't play on my court
Can't hang with the big dogs, stay on the porch
Blow the whistle
Blow
40K, now she act different (let's go)
And her ass different, look, my cash different
I'm gettin' money on purpose, you got it by accident (that's
rich, so I'm droppin' this album, I walk in the room and Lil Murda be crowded
By bitches and phonies and goofies and stolies, I know what I'm doin', get
Yo, what it is? What it do? What's goodie?
You are now tuned in to the sounds of
A Tribe Called De La Peas
L.A. New York collabo
Y'all know what
Big Ben
Y'all fight for dollars and cents like y'all ain't got no sense
Niggas killing to live, like would it kill you to live?
If you diss, get
back
My next album, the whole industry on the ice pack
With TOC
You see the flames and my E-Y-E's
It's not a game and the whole world is going mad,
Friends robbing friends
What's your ends like?
Young G stacked a forty on a pedal bike
Forty for a brick
Get you shot for a brick of white
Big drip, wrist
hands
Just did a stick-up, just got picked up
One dead punk, killed by the man
New York New York big city of dreams
And everything in New York
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