Lyrics:
think just cause you see that I ain't blood and I ain't cripping I won't bat him in his shit
Bitch I'll crash just like a hemi
Put his bitch up in her
me stanity dreams
Giving me music like drugs and they handed me things, they shoot it up
See me on the TV, the cuties they wanna fuck
Both
version of me
They looked down on small town folks
Packed my shit up, moved to Amsterdam all by myself
Tough times, so I turned to the scripture to ask
God
[Baby]
A ki stashed up
And I'm gettin' 'em all
I got a stash put up
For the drought in the fall
[Stone]
Hot Boys vacating the pop
Talk can back shit up
mainstream, and that's the thing
Cash rules everything around me, I'm talking C.R.E.A.M.
So Lord, forgive me for my sins, I'm just tryna win
I will never give
forgive myself? Uh
Thank you for your patience
All these years clean and I'm still isolating
I'm sorry I kept you waiting
Shit, fuck, run that back, uh
up for the gold, got my dice so let's roll
Don't get intimidated by this life you've gotta curate it
Say you'd like help, you need that ching
Before we
care when it's too hot for the hammer
You know the hawk is right
(By your side)
Until you get to the car
And you gotta get through the D before you
stacked up
Maybe I should say some things that I ought to, now
Oh no
No, oh no
Scorpio, we might be the same
You're so good at laughing off things
The future’s waiting for us to get ahead, all we do is to light it on
Never looking back anymore
Hope you understand this another version to the first song
That
(I think it's time I start feeling bitchy
I've been too nice too long
Yup, it's definitely time I get nasty)
(Gon' be some shit, Hot damn, ho)
(Gon'
kick this rhyme right now and right here
I'd tell your name, but that would give you fame
And I ain't out to give you what you don't have
So I sit back
of summer,
Lord, I'll be glad when they're gone.
It's too hot to fish, and too hot for golf,
And too cold at home.
Well that baseball game on TV,
Takes
she drool
Bitch I'm too too hot for you
I'm too rich for that
Spent it, too much cash
Blew it, blew it back
Poppin' 2, 2, 2 more xans syrup overfull
My
to say
Yo, this ain't the Simpsons show, this ain't no mo', this is Dom P
Make sure you pour it out slow. I grew up poor, I ain't going back to that again
things for years, give me one swing
And it's out of here, crack!
Over the fence ladies and gents
Keeping rappers impressed but depressed by my current
fuck up that money
You think it did something to me?
I do things, new things
I'm getting blue cheese, no hot wings
I really cop things, new V's and hard
me stanity dreams
Giving me music like drugs and they handed me things, they shoot it up
See me on the TV, the cuties they wanna fuck
Both presidental
things become
Hot like soup bowls filled with swine the unedible, incredible is the loss, spell money's
Not the cost, but karma is the ticket, for all
of that ol', that good ol'
Yankee up north Dirty south, Yankee music
Uh, it ain't where you from, homey
It's how hot you are, Nicolette, let's, come
that's another version of me
Now you crawling back to me
Do you remember when I never had a thing
You were looking down me
You playing nice nice now
I be smooth, I'm manic but I'm no fool
Y'all rappin I'm talkin cool, and Columbine is not new
In Compton they shoot up schools too, ridin by to see
don't
Too focused on yo pockets
But not yo soul
Ya homies be plotting
And you too slow
Now they done got cha
Set up by hoes
Materialism
Got you out on ya
be loving my TNs, jeez
Back it up and whine pon mi den, peak
DJ got the Tina Moore and MJ Cole
The olders asking for some Dennis Brown but then you
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