[Soulja Boy] I did what I wanted, n-ggas did what they could a lion wouldn’t cheat but a Tiger would I only keep real n-ggas in my stable a million dollar chain, I’m feeling like Gucci’s label so icey I really don’t care haters green as a pool table and they twice as square had to cut a couple b-tches, them n-ggas need stitches I’m getting money out the tree y’all n-ggas getting switches similar to Nas, I need a mic though chop the bread up, Tae Kwon Do they pass me the game like Tom Brady these rappers chances looking slim just like shady
[Verse 2] n-ggas locked behind my bars Im taking out prisoners sit back relax recieving my residual think this song is dope sh–t wait til you see the visual please brace yourself this sh-t about to get critical let it be known I got rappers on my hit list I got so many gifts you would swear I stole Christmas word to the Grinch b-tch my style will switch quick i knew this all along I was waiting just to hit the kill switch since day one man your boy been the truth broke so many records like I’m in the glass booth like I’m in the glass studio breaking out barriers back when crime mob was screaming Ellenwood Area n-gga I aint scared of ya, never ever will be I’m screaming I’m the best till these rappers kill me make the people feel me like the blind men do on your girl head so much like her favourite shampoo lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com I’m travelling where I want, soulja’s vacation my mind is so free, emanicapation proclamation Im so hot, haters evaporating 6 b-tches on my d-ck I’m elimidating Im high every friday just like smokey Im spitting real sh-t, these n-ggas spitting Karaoke hit stick with the flow just like Madden Im so high on my carpet feeling like Alladin I spit hot flames b-tch just like a dragon and my pants saggin spell it backwards n-ggas n-ggas get heated when they see the coupe on i dont give a f-ck got my Pyrex suit on I’ma keep rapping til the fans hear the best of me Im cooking up the game b-tch yeah I got the recipe you aint gotta like me just please respect it hip hop is dead n-gga let me resurrect it microphone check it, uno, dos, tres, I’ma keep spitting til they crown me the best the rap games a mess, let me clean it up its a pigsty they going ham give it up
[Verse 3] flying down the highway a million on the dashboard you cant start my car up unless you got the password I’m something like a prophecy spit so properly when my album drops watch how many rappers copy me haters opinions are obsolete don’t make pop music so it ain’t no pop in me and my brains a b-tch where she at when I need her ya pack nines, I pack nine kilometers ya did’nt want beef why would ya start it cameras flashing like you walking down the red carpet first you was nameless now imma make you famous hit you with the stainless and leave your ass brainless best rapper…Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
