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(Summertime Butch) Ayo, power trophy up the stove in Garçon If you need me, l be in my cell on the phone George capitals you see the bones, I'm in the Rolls Might be the first drug dealer on the Vogue Mule panicking, cause she laid out to the andalay Made shit, my heart's with the Scush All through Lama Ray (Ah) My bitch, still will wanna fight, shooter on the left The first who make her move her dope, dope, be the best Goyard satchel with thе blick, leaving out the rich Chips and Leasе on the shoppin spree, just me and your bitch (Woo) I bought me everything, I ain't buying shit Hermes crocodile sandals stepping on a brick 36 to 44, shit much more My man mom died, he in the cell with the rings and bulls Fuck is the state of rap? Same shit they've been trying to act since Pac died And B.I.G. left and the gang went a lil' lop side on the pop side And not cry, it's elementary that you add some entries to your top 5 Cause evidently l'm in my prime, doing better than them who done got signed But it cost me, how else can I put it? They forced me, bullets and coffee I cheated the game, it felt good as adultry Asked the last label, well l'm a rap saver I'm a cash major, l'm a mad strangler, I'm a cash cow and a stack saver We could chat now, or we could chat later Letras de cancionesI made my wrist lock Then made a movie bout it Like the black Alfred Hitchcock Interrogation room I be so quiet in it that you might hear a pin drop What's the state of rap? Same shit they've been trying to act since Will Smith and Jazzy Jeff I sold real bricks I still don't got no real hits But cocaine still give thrills White girl, real kill bill shit I get chills when I close deals Made a quarter mill off some chill shit I get the pill, I'm tryna bang like I'm O'Neal You just Josh Childress I show you jits 'round the money, I'll take you lil' n***** on a field trip Got a yacht master on a yacht **** we are not rappers All the cops past them And they drop faster than a time traveler And my watch flashing like I'm arm-wrestlers But you like the senior, with bad grades And I'm the dean, I'm thinking why cap ya Couch potato with an iPad and a mic so, now, you a podcaster They hit they ceilings, I'm booked in Paris, let's get to business Two-hundred fifty in hundreds, to count it, it take her 10 minutes (Maybe eight) Fuck is the state of rap? Same shit they've been trying to act since Eazy-E Only street n***** gon' agree with me I'm just a rich n**** with a GED Big Butch, ah From Letras Mania