Lyrics:
drink
Cops on the lawn waitin' for the kids to leave.
Willey knew the Brothels Willey had the speed
Willey had the friends that had everything you need
We at Rc Willey
It is her home
Her way
Eh
Bossin and we saucin
I'm turnin and i'm tossin
I be winnin
Cut the losses
And I won it
When I met you
I
What a shame, what a shame
Shame on a nigga that tried to run game on a nigga
This is it, boy
Stacking money to the sky, getting rich, ha'
Stacking
What a shame, what a shame
Shame on a nigga that tried to run game on a nigga
This is it, boy
Stacking money to the sky, getting rich, ha'
to do
It i am an artist and I care about humanity
Yes I am personally rich and I can
Buy furs and houses for my family
But I need access to more money
Robertson Willey was an upright young man
Everyone said he'd go far
He loved his wife, he loved his kids
But most of all he loved his car
He was a .
Beautiful, dirty, dirty, rich, rich, dirty, dirty
Beautiful, dirty, rich
Dirty, dirty, rich, dirty, dirty, rich, beautiful
Beautiful and dirty,
Beautiful, dirty, dirty, rich, rich, dirty, dirty
Beautiful, dirty, rich
Dirty, dirty, rich, dirty, dirty, rich, beautiful
Beautiful and dirty,
there
Nothing that doesn't show
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man, too
You keep all your money in a big brown
an artist never seen yet with a vision
With a reason
Stared with venom at the ceiling
Not the grass
But straight ahead
Just at the skyline
With
there
Nothing that doesn't show
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man, too
You keep all your money in a big brown
the superstar recording artist
Transitions to independent status
After a successful twelve years at Shady
Aftermath interscope, during which time he
Sold more
Let me guess, another album about, "Poor me
I'm so famous, it has ruined my rich little life
And I'm such a tortured artist, let me make music about
there
Nothing that doesn't show
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man
Baby you're a rich man, too
You keep all your money in a big brown
There are no lyrics to this track. It is intentionally blank, with each of the 71 seconds representing one of the years that the artist's father,
Your next favourite artist (Artist , Artist , Artist)
You're my favourite artist (Artist)
the artist
I can't trust no fuckin' body
They still out to get me 'cause they never got me
Dropped outta school now we dumb rich (dumb rich)
This sound
nigga, ayy
An imaginary rich nigga, ayy
Seven figures hold that slimmer than my bitch figure, ayy
Goin' digital and physical on all y'all, ayy
Bunch
I'm rich
Like a hot noise
Rich rich rich
I'll take you out, boy
So stuck up
I wish you'd stick in to me
Flesh ripped off
Raw
Hey!
Turnin'
that's low as cocaine was
Martin had a dream, nigga, I did too
To make it out the hood, rich, bitch, off that stoup
So, I took it that thaw, and hit
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
We're sorry but the artist has decided not to disclose the lyrics for this song.
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