Lyrics:
'round and 'round
Rummage through your mailboxes
Take your mail back to town
And we got license plates, wedding gifts, tax returns
Checks
I was mindin' my bee's wax, working like gift tax
When I fell into her spell, oh no
Now I'm crawling on your patio, lemme be your Daddy-O
Please
over time
I pay gift tax for me serving them lines
They withering and dying I'm miracle grow for the vines
Now watch me sit back on the beat and recline
I'm just the breeze to a lit match
The trees to a pick axe, the fees to a gift tax
The reason that you're still rubbing your neck
It's the whiplash
I
But is it worth it all
You've paid up in time
So please just stand in line
They'll dig up your grave
A gift to FBI
They'll tax all your children
But is it worth it all
You've paid up in time
So please just stand in line
They'll dig up your grave
A gift to FBI
They'll tax all your children
rules And fuck you politicians, been exposed you a tool My tax dollar gots to treat earth like a jewel
Hemp oil green fuels JAH gifts abound
And not
seems to me somewhere along the way of how things got messed up
yeah, messed up
oh marijuana
gift of god to my brothers and me
oh marijuana
government
And a good girl in my tax bracket
Got a black card that'll let Saks have it
These Chanel bags is a bad habit
I-I do balls, Dal Mavericks, my Maybach, black
successful entertainers with tax problems
DMX went homeless and heard he back robbing
Rosay won't be a old nigga with back problems
In the back
our problems they tax
Fuk that girl
Fuk your bitch
Fuk your shit
Fuk your risk
You a risk
If you sit
With your gifts
Fuk that shit
Fuk your girl
You
like paste, it can't be erased
Face to face I overpower like bass
To the climax, I don't carry a sax
I carry a axe to tax and wax those who rap
the code)
But since I can't, I'ma count this paper in front of you and
Shower you with these gifts and (mmh, they don't respect the code)
I'ma tell you
back
And you're under attack hold on to your hat
As trouble always comes ion sax o' tax
Dark blue astras plain clothes slacks
Hard facts kept under
sendin' me gifts
And these clown niggas actin', I'mma send 'em some skits
Bitches can't rap for shit, I'mma send 'em some tips
All these bitches is my
You'd be glad to know
I've fixed that table leg
Fashioned a makeshift foot
Out of a couple old tax notices
We can finally be even-keeled at dinner
Hot pastrami for my Jewish chicks
Eight days of Christmas, every day a newer gift
I'm Michael Jackson to the rich niggas
That leather jacket, baby,
missin' panties
That pussy felt like a hidden valley
Thank God that I'm so gifted
I wouldn't return a single gift
But all good things must come
a rich man
If he don’t give it up we chop him up
And send his body parts
To his house gift-wrapped
Lord, I think I need a hit man
To put a hit out
Say, what do you think about that
Paying the income tax
Now, What do you think about that
Extortion and its a fact
Well, what do you think about this
seal on candle wax
Reel to reels of scuzzy facts
of dodgy deal and income tax
String me up from Traitor's Gate
stick my head upon a stake
And if you
thing.
I was born into it, and before I knew it.
I saw the students of poor gettin' hauled off to war.
The law of Judas in the land of the king's tax
And ain't nothin' wrong with standing still and relax
And spendin' some of that cash that Uncle Sam is gonna tax
A New York demeanor, sit back in the beamer
Consider me a Caterpillar crane, gift-wrapped
About to take the load off, lifestyle so boss
I could pay your costs, all my old hoes lost
Blowin' weed
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