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Yeah, my plug owns a jerk chicken and roti spot Right up over there on Church Ave Every time I go over there He be on some, "bodmon, bodmon Why you never come visit me?" I'm like, "dog, you know I'm out of town, dread I'ma bring the 'woods next time we in the city" Cold cut, ghetto cowboy shit Yo, my plug grew up in Flatbush but speakin' like he Guyanese (wagwan, wagwan) Me and the cheese Siamese (attached) Back before we had the scale, we was eyein' Gs Now they eyein' Gs, tryna iron squeeze (pull up, hop out) All this lyin' speech, when I hear these liars preach From a mile away, you can hear my tires screech (skrt) Tree so loud, my sour speaks If I get tried, these streets'll never let that motherfucka die in peace And I ain't even leave my Italian sheets (15 hunnid thread count) Her cheeks open, I apply the grease (clean that shit up, baby) She told me she don't wanna work no more (me neither) Told her start the car, roll a 'wood, and my dope is raw (whatever) Brooklyn high-rise to the SoHo polo store, we on (get whatever the fuck you want) Spendin' every dollar 'til it's all gone Tote the game so long, I aim and shoot, forewarnin' Even in my sleep, my thoughts joggin' Letras de cancionesY'all clockin' time different like y'all talk foreign (the fuck is 22 o'clock?) So po' the Scotch up, I'm mollywhoppin', drop a pump And had the crowd poppin' stunts since Wolf dropped "Pop the Trunk" (before that) He ridin' with the shotty and the Glock in tuck (ch-ch) I'm just ridin' with a pocket full of tropic fluff (exotic) Different drugs until my sockets bust Hustle 'til my Nikes crease You copped the feats but you ain't nothin' like me, chief You hypebeasts is rappin' over too many tight beats, sheesh Hallelujah from altitudes underneath my schooner Step over tempos like broken glass underneath my Pumas That's crunch time, dump my bag into one line Food for thought like I'm [?] off and it's lunch time Swimmin' with the sharks, she's in linens in the dark She's attendin' school, I'm pretendin' cool, easy heart One hand on the pen, that's a pomade, two greasy parts No slick back, but my '57's a breezy car The window's down, this CD's hard, oops, I meant the bluetooth Showin' my age, huh, oops, I meant the Ginsu Showin' my blade, huh, oops, I meant to miss you But I kissed you, swingin' in the shade, cut you, like, in two (You cut him in half) Pull a Dewey Cox Hit every genre like the wax groove inside the vinyl box The milkcrate, 'Bama license plate In Hollywood, rockin' overalls until the mansion gates Billy in there, a slumdog, really you square, up out my circle We pyramid visionaries drinkin' Perrier, crushed berries Creek Water, feet up on the black yacht "Barracuda," Heart playin' through the rusty boombox, I keep it G (Slum) I keep it G like there's no other letter, A to Z Don't pay for features, don't pay for features, keep it free Dope, that's the motherfuckin' law If I did it for money, I wouldn't fuck with none of y'all Just pay me in advance before I hit the stage, okay? If you tell me that you broke, it's hard for me to stay awake Ain't got no time to break you down like you do me up on the 'gram If you can't see the God in I, your surface blind to who I am The son is on his pilgrimage, I'm purgin' Alabama's cultural distance By bein' infinite, unbound, I'm limitless Rhythm is not a gimmick, it's rhythm inside my innocence Givin' my lines through penmanship, you should say I'm meant for this Ain't into what's new, big, or critic picks So fuck hipsters, hippos, and hypocrites You ain't fuckin' with me then it's off-target, you missin' it Like a nympho that's impotent, like a symphony instrument I'm the conductor, reconstruct the buildin' and go live in it Foundation of sentences, fountain of youth, I swim in it Bouncin' a hoopty tinted in [?] with my shit on blast Through tweeters, Pimp and shit, Underground Kings I done earned a green beret with UGK I done done a song with Wynonna Judd and Three 6 the same day Fuck you mean? Hats, leather, bolo, boots, I am the fuckin' scene The stars fell in my lap, that's why I got Mother Earth by the waist Drinkin' her wine after I feed her grapes Reap what you show, and I just sold a thousand acres Plus I sewed up a vest, I'm a low-fashion designer maker MWA, Michael Wayne Atha, born 1-9-7-9 from my celestial form Peace, or no peace, have it your way Just dropped a video 5 minutes ago, "Lightning" directed by Jorge The grind don't stop, neither does the roll and rock A rollin' stone like Keith Richards, I'll be gray and still on top, yeah (Money, money, money, money, money) Money, money, money, money, money Mile zero, zero, zero, bitch From Letras Mania