Lyrics:
Believe in ya dough choose zeroes over hoes mane
Even when ya hurt be a starter not a second string
Produce like troops throw it up like ya serve game
Get
Monte back
She ride that Harley bad
Yeah, hold up
Hold on
(Get you right yea)
I need a road that don't end alright
What's it gonna take for you to stay
and my medulla oblongata ain't scared of nada
So buck up, or you'll get run up, they raise the Sun up
And I'm the son of a long line of veterans
Prezzley P'll get you popped nigga, Swayze nigga
Nigga,
They done threw me in the lab, Hoss
Yeah, T.C. the Don nigga
You can call my Hoss if you want
sum'n
Get the fuck on auntie before I stick sum'n
Since a youngin', I knew I was about to turn up
We the ones that hit that small town and made it burn up
on my name, that just leaves me in conversation
Claim you ain't a fan but stay bringing my name up in rotation
This is the matrix, don't pop pills I
Serving up fiends in the back
She hate when I leave and come back
She getting way too attached
Hate when they get too attached to me I gotta roll up a blunt
Gang
Lit up on my block
I live my life like I'm a savage
Pop out with that glock
I swear to God it could get tragic
Lit up on my block
I live my life
a Monaco penthouse
Drinks by the rooftop she praying that I slip up
Set a hot lap on the streets think I'm Ayrton Senna
And that be my rainy day cottage
't know by now, let me acquaint you with my steez
(C'mon) I don't get on stage and waste your time
Niggaz got a lot to say but they just can't rhyme
They
out my bread
Throw it in the stash
Double up then double up again
I don't like to bragg
Praying all my nuccas out here win
Buy the whole damn block
with lust
(Trade with lust tonight)
You and me, never gets enough
Never gets enough
From London to Milano
From Dubai to Monte Carlo
Bye bye bitch
Being
sippin', I'ma down a whole bottle
Hard liquor, hard truth, can't swallow
Need a bartender, put me out my sorrow
Wake up the next day in the Monte Carlo
Wake up homie
Ayy, them people, they coming
Listen
Ayy, wke up
Ayy, homie
You gotta get up
Ayy, them folks is at the door, man
Get up
Get up
brother
Heavy is the head, you better go and get neck cover
Score and fill the net, like Carlos Tevez I'm next brother
Heavy is the head, you better go
a glock round (Glock round)
Early mor mor don dey think about my being rich
And if you no dey fuck
Get up out my crib bitch
I don be bad boy since like
[Wyclef]
Ladies N gents
Back by popular demand
Its the G&B with Carlos Santana
[Product g&B]
Li we in up in here its not a game no more
You
't mess with me when I'm in my zone
Yeah don't mess with me when I'm in my zone
Let's get it started, no pity parties I'm in the Monte
Carlo follow, I'm set
to no one
Them fools don't play
I gotta deal with those motherfuckers every day
They'd love to get me behind bars
They hawk a nigga like I'm Carlos
the pope
Tell your mama please, get up off her knees
You can't wear yellow spandex wit a ass of cottage cheese
Open toed shoes, feet smell like collard
track up, everybody get back
That's why my pen needs a pad 'cause my rhymes on the rag
Just like I did with addiction I'm 'bout to kick it
Like
track up, everybody get back
That's why my pen needs a pad 'cause my rhymes on the rag
Just like I did with addiction I'm 'bout to kick it
Like
we’re trying stuck in
I bin sat in that in the bando trapping
Hands on grafting .. bin stackin bands in
An I don’t even chat on phones cos u tell by
don't wanna work a job, motherfuck a 9 to 5
Every time I get a check, what I really get? Robbed
Livin in America, this shit is a facade
But you gotta
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