[Verse 1: Jarren Benton] Through the lights, cameras, the action Glammers, glitters, and gold So much money that my paper won't fold Shooting game at these hoes Like I’m bishop, magic, done one Out in Hong Kong, eating stuffed wontons With this dumb blonde East side, that’s where I come from Doctor Lecter, bitch I move effortless, Actavis in my beverage, bitch I murder beats like a terrorist, get a therapist This mac’ll make a pussy nigga do a pirouette Standing on top of pyramids, watching these snakes slither quick My bitch could make her pussy toke a couple cigarettes I bet I be more than nigger rich Gun powder in my pits, kibbles and bits The champagne fizzles a bit Mister Benton, I’m invisible bitch Keep an icepick to chisel a prick She discovered my discography, she listens to Rittz I gave her a couple hits and now she’s licking my dick Yeah, smooth as a gator on a block of ice Tough guys get chop chopped with a pocket knife I’m on the grind tryna get these fucking pockets right Helicopters hover the block at night Crack head, stuck to Lucifer’s noose Another warm Saturday, I take the roof off the coupe I’m drinking again, I guess I mixed the juice and the Goose I cum in your bitch’s hair, she say she use it as mousse Watching Judge Mathis, flicking ashes on these nigga’s fabric Riding with a dime piece in a vintage Maverick I just copped a time machine, and a new Bugatti Just cause they dress like faggots, they ain’t Illuminati
[Verse 2: Poundz] A drug dealer’s dream, cup filled with lean [?] stuffed to the seams Green, power time, all I see is dollar signs [?] You get out of line, take you out your olive nines Fuck, ocean view in the hands Tell the bitch cook something, throw some food in the pan Then I send her home with the scent of my dick I’m a beast, I’m a dog, get the vet when I’m sick Shit, I’m too fat to fit in the Panamera Strappers lit, these rappers bitching, they ran [?] From the attic era, ‘matic in the hammer bearer Smash your [?], rub my baby batter in like Aloe Vera Bet she told you she ain’t like fat guys Till I got her that high, plug like a flash drive Crushed in a cab ride, fuck, let the cash fly King shit, getting sucked, eating bad Thai Murder for the chips again, burn em for the dividends Tailor made [?], Birkin for my women friends I got monetary obsessions, got to carry a weapon They plot on my very essence I’m from the bottom and I’m glad we are You know straight Honda Civics, no caddy cars I turned a stogey to a grand daddy [?] And now it’s all about the Xanny bars and caviar Rappers talk suspicious, like they bought some viscous Boy how you the weight man? You washing dishes How many rappers really get it fore they get in My yellow gold Cuban make these rappers tuck they shit in BitchTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
