Lyrics:
Felon, fights behind me on the intersection
Sex and drugs my anthology on perfection
Dress superb admired by conspirists
Who wanna try me but ain't high
she rather have a purse?
Why give a bitch an inch
When she'd rather have nine?
You know how the game goes
She be mine by half time, I'm the shit,
come thru and i can have ya man if i want to
And um on point like a sharp too rich drink rich smoke and rich dick too
Rich bitch n a G high high boss
I ain’t been this high since I was
Five feet five feet five feet
She can’t take it all because she
Five feet five feet five feet
Stack my money tall
a cowboy
Give Tony too much dope
I'm pushin' the big boy v12, SL detailed
I rap and wait for them checks in the mail
If you hatin', your due time life will
why they stay down, they loyal citizens of Zamunda
By way of A-T-L; if you disagree
don't even look at me ho don't pass go just go straight to jail
With
shit
You see us right
Fly shit
Swag or die and we high
Haha Rich Gang
DJ Stevie J
Stunna, salute
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
And everybody knows you can see it how we ride
Sittin high on them thangz middle finger to tha sky
(I make big money I drive big cars everybody know me
I
leaf suit
With my five hundred dollar brown knee-high Ballsy
Wes said, "It's pimpin' how you wear 'em outside ya pants
And by the way my ham sandwichs
from a wine, cheers
Swear I'm pocket checkin' y'all for five years
And then we 'bout to kick this shit in high gear
Eight karats like vegetarians,
rich motha fucka
Baby don't play me, don't play me (That a big man thing)
Baby don't play me, don't play me (You better kiss my ring)
I'm a rude boy from
(What's good, Mario?)
Man, all the hoes in the fuckin' background, y'all shut the fuck up
Fuck you talkin', man, R5 in the fuckin' building
Show
of the big score the night before
Met the connect, who was impressively dressed
In high fabrics
With troops like Babe Ruth, up on the mezzanine
Brandishing
the tuck
Think the Xanax and the Endo Sack, make me slack?
Cocktailed or v'd up, gettin Swiss cheesed up
Please don't blow my high
Don't blow my high
When
Yeah, open up, open up
Yeah, yeah, open up, open up
Yeah
Open up windows, no hitch
Three, four, five, six, seven, I'm rich
Ignorance doesn't mean
I spent my first two years gettin' high
By smokin' dollar joints rolled outta 1.5's
That was 'round '84, '85
Smoke all week for the dimes
Now
with her toes out
Rich nigga, I come straight out the poor house
Trap goin' crazy right there by Morehouse
Dead and Me, Ced and more ahks
Bought
(oh, I am, I'm trying)
Whatchu mean, you ain't got no cash? (I got a little bit)
Whatchu mean? Whatchu mean?
Shouldn't your pockets be big just like
from going down the forty-five South to a German
Had to hustle first, parked up by the curb with the service
I got networks, and the money be returning
blow me a kiss
I sip the six, spot 'em too big
I don't get Cris, I'm high as it get
Addys and grits, ayy
Don't play with it
I'm clutchin' all day
the brains
Dream Team! Dream Team!
Fly high, fly high, fly high
One, two, three, ABC, Do-Re-Mi, man alive!
Ho ho ho! Ho ho ho! Go go go! Jackson 5
die rich
Die rich
I don't give a fuck what you gotta say
Ima smoke til i'm mother fuckin' high bitch
Im in the booth with blunt
Purple juice in the cup
the station to channel live
That underground hard-core sound who said it'd die
'Cause if it is me and my nine's
The first to ride
For my niggas
Live by
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