Lyrics:
the streets 'cause
I been gone a minute
(yeah, I been gone a minute)
Popped two Percocet 30s, I'm a stoner, nigga
(Stoner) shootin' four-five-six
Told 'em stop
the 40 on it
Took the 40 off my hip put a 30 on it
Yeah this jewelry round my neck bout a birdie on it
Could tell by the shit you copped you ain’t heard
Now I'm flipping several thousand
What the boy gon' do?
They don't look a lot like us
They don't really talk like us
They don't look a lot like us (They
know what that mean, I'm fly to death
I step in Def Jam buildin' like I'm the shit
Tell 'em gimme fifty million and Imma quit
Most rappers' taste
ahead and cop it
Money in the bag
Probly takin out the garbage
I know dem boys snitchin
'cause they're scared of 1st degree
But you can tell em
laugh
Tell a bitch I'm pressed for time, tryna cut a brick in half
I'm talkin' thousand times two-fifty, niggas stuck on Instagram
You would think I
bored, right after that's past tense (Uh)
I be drippin' and swaggin' of course, ayy (Yeah)
How many hundred thousand you make this year, on my 32nd
I
the base (base)
Look ya dead in ya face now tell me how good does it taste (Ross)
Willie Fal-con, I'm the Dow Jones
Down South where them D-Boys ground
Scalez, it's a Scalez track
Ayy, tell 'em run it back
Aj ruin everything, he in here
Paid for this body and none of it's cheap
I heard your
a fetus
Na I don't need your rap bars on my remix
Turn Soulja Boy tell ’em
Into Soulja Boy teethless
Ask about the kid, JID, older boys preaching
Teaching
nerve
3 thousand 5 hundred dollars call that a loui' purse
A pent house sweet for me and her, call that a loss her skirt
Nigga out shine Gucci mane I
a hundred thousand, so I dropped it all
And that wasn't my whole bankroll
Body roll, waist roll, waist roll
Make a bitch do what I say so
Waist trained,
gunsmoke in Tokyo
MC's dosey do your mics up in this rodeo
My star roast em up by the thousands, millions, quadrillions
Shuttin down national state buildings
that's a tripple double
That's balling, shot clock wife beater
This the life, better tell 'em, Trip
Friday, Saturday, Sunday
Nigga made a hundred flip let
punishable by law
If you make more than half a million
You make over five hundred thousand a year
Sam want thirty-seven percent of that
Which is almost
amounting to
A worm and spitting sperm
At the rate of one hundred miles per hour?
Two thousand guys at ya, you
Can’t turn your back
You fight ‘em in your face
Tell the dj play a (hit man)
East point's greatest (hit man)
All the ladies need a (hit man)
Dungeon family the (hit man)
30 million for a (hit man)
smellin' like the fuckin' bar
From the looks of the watch, he must be sellin', boy
All this money homie must be a d-boy
Buy 'em by the two's, talkin'
Waka
I don't want a single chain I can't rocka
[?] life is a bitch, can't stop her
Even if I could, I tell 'em I wouldn't knock her
Til the get the 6
[Soulja Boy Verse]
wuz goin on these niggaz out here wildin
They Don't want won't beef, better run to police.
Better yet man you better keep quiet.
I got ice in my veins
And 100 million in a safe
In a 'Rari I'm up and away
Shooting from the corner like I'm Klay
You know I can do this all day
in the pendant
I made it cool to feed the hood and put my niggas on
Took a hundred fifty thousand, brought the killers home
We used to kill shit
'round me
If you cut off the E
Just know you gettin' popped at
'Cause this my life
And this how I'ma live it
I spent a hundred fifty thousand on cars
You
stars
I’ll have a hundred thousand
Angels at my funeral
Funeral, funeral we’ll be laughin'
We’ll be dancing at your funeral
Funeral, funeral
Goofy boy
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