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Yeah, brolic shit, brolic shit, nigga This billionaire rap, nigga Ayo, ayo The ring is nine carats up, I could shrug for bucks Success, is it par, now boo, what's up? Countin' and creepin', buried money, I smoke frequent Pope with a dope, you know would beat me, kid You played the vesses in the S's My shooter named Jerome with Louis on restin,' lived successfully Flying and puffing, the steering wheel cushion comfy My pullers up, niggas would slump me Still, we at the Mirage, seven suitcases is nothin' My bitch can go here, she do the huntin', yo Rob a few birds and skate with some ones, we bluntin' These little trick niggas, watch who you front with Playing Cedes in the 'Cedes Gleamin' with the navy blue straddlers from Orchard to Black Macy's Funds is monstrous, few grenades We 40 drinkers, no chasers, up in sensation, on vacation And lampin', shades down, peace to my niggas, all caged down With devilishment around, I'm sending sage out Grass is greener, the glass is cleaner Dirty fingernails with guns fresh out of Medina Tams in gooses Letras de cancionesThe old school version of the cool kids who stay strapped and trapped where the tools live Party where the jewels give it Trunk loads of PCP, we sending this fucking message to DC! It's like I'm stuck in that bill, bill Confidential bodies in the projects over homi's who got spilled Gold tassels, call my shooters the little rascals Got Spanky, he fell for stymie to clap you Automatic floors that spread apart Emerald couches that get raised where the suede look better dark Welcome to disco, pinky ring poppin' like Crisco Marketing cocaine cookies, call it Nabisco Cigarette lighters in pool halls, a bad bitch An old jukebox playing that Lou Rawls Nicky Barnes dope gets stretched out Heroine addicts that OD, and still putting the rest out Cotton Club money, gators is gummy Dustin' off Donna Summers' LPs Ali Frazier tickets in gold plaques Bruce Lee, tenth-degree black-belt actor, auction cost a hundred and 12 Gs From Letras Mania