Lyrics:
Bust some shit out some lung
Don't know how it's going, Yungstar's still flowing
Flipping with Poyo, and his
Trunk is steady glowing
See that boy me
Getting Money Like It’s ’88
Swaggin’ Is A Passion, I’m In Love w/ Fashion
Casanova Brown, When I’m In Your Town
Standing Room Only, The Kush So Loud
screaming all night she woke up horse
Either way I need me some money coming some sort
Am I still trapping is a pig's pussy pork
You can tell by my walk that
take it when yah dying
Thoughts of going back to Church but the Streets He Knows is Calling
Getting Low off Green and Purple tryna numb the pain inside
these rappers can't touch me
Ugly? Shit, you serious? I'm hideous
I was better than all you silly kids while tryna figure out just who I really is
he got another year
Even the judge wanna see that nigga get cut in there (by a Blood)
Tekashi really told on all of his homies (he a rat)
His baby
chasin' clout (come on)
Shit corny, even Fat Joe had to call him out
You mad she fuckin' Nelly nigga that's what it's all about (haha)
Stacy Dash dumb
day, you're going to look back
And think "Wait a minute
Did I really lose my life clubbing and
Miss out on a moment where I
Could've been building myself
eyes, dad had brown eyes
Mom had green eyes, she's a cheating bitch (hoe)
Joe turned out to be the mailman's kid
Dad wasn't meant to find out
But
while you can
But like Dianna she was dirty grabbed me by the stick and said she wanna be bad
Then she told me that she's not alone
I brought my girl
while you can
But like Dianna she was dirty grabbed me by the stick and said she wanna be bad
Then she told me that she's not alone
I brought my girl
while you can
But like Dianna she was dirty grabbed me by the stick and said she wanna be bad
Then she told me that she's not alone
I brought my girl
A New Strand That's That Shitt I'm Trying To Be On Nigga
Blown
My Room Smelling Like Socks Worn Too Long That She Smelling Out That Jar
Tell My
funny
Is it any reason why y'all starvin'
I smell bull and by smelling force
Do I really need to beg your pardon?
My jersey say James I don't play
leads us to a bumpy ride
Shawty don't like it, dance like Michel Jackson
She impressed by Pateks, celebrity status
Is what she adores but she's climbing
Richard Fagan/Joe Collins, Of Music, Inc (ASCAP/Life's A Pitch/Joe Collins Music (ASCAP)/Foray Music administered by EMI Music (SESAC)
Hey hoe come
employed, yeah
She do the money count in just her drawers, yeah
I make her count out loud, I listen hard
I been fuckin' models, they been walkin' 'round in
on the grind to the top I climb
Fuckin wit me she gotta be a dime
Living by the mantra that the world is mine
I keep money on my mind
Always on the grind
it Huey Newton or Detroit Red?
Is it Martin Luther? JFK? Shooter—you assassin
Is it Jackie? Is it Jesse? Oh, I know it's Michael Jackson—oh
When
props 'cause he's living
(Why wait until the heartbeat stops)
Check it out, y'all, proper respect is what we're giving
(We're giving heartbeat props)
Never jump up in-a mi face 'cause I gun
Never judge a book by di cover, dat's wrong
Dis is Fat Joe alongside di Banton
Hey, what about Pun?
Rudeboy,
to the eastwike
Even flat Joe's and even the lingwood is all hood
For the Christ your all driving is all hood
The ghetto
Ghetto
Ghetto
I can't get out
Yeah, Joe Lika, Joe Lika Yeah, check it out, fuck it up, check it out, woah, Joe Lika, Joe Lika
Name is Joe likeaboss, going Jesus, no cross Drippin'
going broke again
NBA, never broke again
Never going broke again
Talkin' money but walkin' funny
Is it any reason why ya'll starvin'
I spell boredom by
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