Tryin' To Make A Dollar Out Of 15 Cent [feat. RBL] Letra

[Hook x3] Tryin' to make a dollar out of fifteen cents How come when I was down you wasn't brown nosin' [Master P] See it's a fucked up life that I'm livin' in I slang cola cause I didn't have no dividends My baby mama stressin' she don't wanna slang dope The ghetto's tryin' to kill me which way should I go Now I'm on the corner takin' penitentiary chances Even though there's marks on my turf that can't stand me I think to myself, when should I leave Too say fuck em' nigga till ya hit my weed I guess I'm a G about my scrilla cause they bashin' Crews know that P is quick to put em' in that casket The game got me streesin' but the game gon' stress out Even though the task just raid a nigga's house Took a loss in the game tryin' to bubble up Find the P deep in the grind slangin' dope fiends double ups And pretty soon I'll be back to a whole thing If I had to do it again I'd probably do the same thing [Hook x3] [RBL] Man it ain't nothin' but a thang to let ya nuts hang Cause in this game a million niggas tried to fuck the same thang I know it be like on, on my block Niggas must be on the cell while another's on the short stop It won't stop and it won't quit Tell me another quick way for a nigga to check a grip, shit I'm kind of in a rush, it's kind of like a must To get some, in God we trust Bein' broke sure ain't no joke I barely got enough money to buy me a whole loaf Niggas be spendin' money like records So I move from Mike Chester to Girbaud pocket Cause a lesson is a nigga will shoot No playin' hoops, he ain't gon' never see no signs or no quick loot Dank costs ten and the drey costs five So I gots have more in my pocket than a nickel and a dime, bitch [Hook x3] [Master P] Gold fronts in my mouth, hella dope and got my bags tight Bitches on my dick cause they know the P rags are tight But I ain't trippin' off no hoochies with no lil' skirt I'd rather deal with them turks, puttin' in work They caught up in some dirt Cause I'm the Ice Cream Man droppin' off hella loads Vanilla, stawberry, cherry bitch I even got Rocky Road Take yo pick, I know you dope fiends wanna lick But that's gon' cost you twenty bones in case you wanna hit I love you, you love me But this ice cream don't go for free It's a ten, twenty, fifty, hundred dollar sack or cone And if you ain't spendin' bring yo broke ass on Golds on my vehicle, fools they can't see me though Tens for twenty, that's plenty meet me at the liquor store Fiends want credit but cha' know I can't fade ya When you get cha' cash together call me on my pager I'm stressin' off the game, I barely gets sleep I just had to bail my lil' partner last week In and out of aves gettin' chased by the 5-0 Gettin' my hustle on, a way of survival And if I get caught I got play But I ain't goin' out without two stones to the head [Hook to end]