Lyrics:
out up front, you see the Benz on dubs (uh-huh) When I roll twenty deep, it's twenty nines in the club (yeah) Niggas heard I fuck with Dre, now they
run with Black Eyed Peas and them First show in T-Dot where the shawties be gems Twenty-thou' losin' they minds as we recite these hymns See,
you 20 out of 40 sitting on some chrome v [Tray-D] From the entrance it's pimp shit in full effect spittin' rhymes getting high off of blunts and X
was 20 years old or 64 I'm like James Bond, I always get the hoe I got (16 Hoes), fuck this trick If he paid that hoe, to suck his dick That's his
a single thing a man like me can do Wishin' all these old things were new. Wishin' all these old things were new Good times like the roaring 20
a steamin' on to heaven With it's twenty cars a rockin' in tow Bringin' on the payroll Here comes the sun now, we're havin' fun You and me together,
the money, pleasure and treasure that'll rust When he traded his eternity for 20 years of lust Where the bottle go pop, models go shop Everyone knows who you
Hank, he'd done blowed the profits all to hell 'Cause he'd run through a 10 and he'd run through a 20 And he'd run through a 100 just as fast as it
Now they put me in this jailhouse, twenty long years today, And it's drivin' me crazy, I've got thirty more years to stay. The jailhouse, boy ‘s
Leave a nigga on the flo' Truly I don't buck with you, nigga Let my tooly talk talk to you, nigga Bitch man is an itch to a rich man, whoa 20
fifteen hundred and twenty The year it is now nineteen sixty-five It's easier far to stay half-alive Just keep your mouth shut while The planes zoom
I'm waiting for the man Twenty-six dollars in my hand Up to Lexington 1-2-5 So sick and dirty, more dead than alive I'm waiting for the man Hey
What you would do if it was twenty mil' or live on the street? I guarantee your ass is rapping on a radio beat But it was deeper than that I used that
cheaper than you Fifty cents Forty cents Thirty cents Twenty cents No, you can't Yes, I can! Yes, I can! Anything you can say I can say softer I
for? This ain't a fuckin' sing-along So, girl, what you singin' for? It's 'cause we blowing like a C4 Got my whole crew blowing like a C4 Twenty
early twenties (twenties) I seen the shit I see but no respondin' Bitches spell-check ya, speak Ebonics Better know the book you're readin' I swear
then What was there to know? If I could do it all again I'd never let you go Twenty minutes, twenty years ago Is still the reason why I'll love you
these broads won't give me my props Twenty-five on the bag, I be stunting on they ass And they mad cause the bitch won't stop Got your boyfriend
crime pay (yeah, yeah) Hold up, wait, slatt, slatt (ATL Jacob) (yeah, yeah) Twenty cars, matte black (yeah, yeah) Surfin' at the Ritz Carlton (yeah,
Spent twenty-four hours, I need more hours with you You spent the weekend getting even, ooh We spent the late nights making things right between us
all twenty-three (twenty-three) You know I'm Jordan with it, G-O-A-T (G-O-A-T) Obviously, you know I'm aware of that I'm breaking hearts like
all in, that's what I do My little niggas jerkin', what's up with you? This little rappin' ass, niggas tappin' out I'm almost twenty in, the fuck you
you'll never be the same as you were Then you look back at your life and everything is a blur Like did I really turn twenty-three and see a mill before
after its nest Twenty-three miles we've covered today So, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away, whip-crack-away The wheels go turning round,
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