Consideration
Boldy James, The Alchemist
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My 1st Chemistry Set blocks, Chemist Cook up yeah Finished with this last hundred thou' Through the money counter Movin' the bag and I'm runnin' Out in record timin' Geneva band bright, with excessive diamonds All you can move is puppy chow And New England clam chowder You mismatchin' designers, I'm V12 and Impala And V12's and problems And never had a license As I multiply and divide addin' money I never paid attention in class Except for math and science Live in the lap of lux Smokin' on Cali's finest These niggas so puss you'd have Thought that they had vaginas That's why we clap 'em up, ten packs Bloodclot 'em i got ninety nine problems and A brick ain't one i got thirty five shots Yeah the clip that dumb And my handgun it look retarded as a chopper We built this from the ground up Started from the bottom It's Concreatures, game time Money ain't a problem Pocket full of stacks I had to take into consideration That when you gettin' money Ain't no limitation To what niggas'll do to get They hands on this paper (better tell 'em) Have my critters come and Lay down that demonstration 187 Cause niggas hate it when you Get they bitches naked (bold) And your chain made out of A bunch of tennis bracelets (cold) And your closet full of fresh Put one in the sky (do it) We're talking nothing but the best That money can buy I got real expensive taste and I live an extravagant lifestyle My left pocket: six G's The other one: ten bands And my watch on Swizz Beatz: I'm The one man band man Four in my right palm, two in my left hand In the back of the club doin' the band dance All around the board, I was born in the USA Guess you could say this An American Band Stand Three hundred eighties got my man jammed Now it's meet me at the Little Caesars my baby i got them pan pans Half assed think you slick With a bag full of tricks While you try'na penny pinch I'm try'na cram jam twenty two grand in my True Religion brand pants I sold a hundred grams That's another ten bands Put a one on it, that's an extra ten grams I cook so much dope, I need two wristbands And I ball so hard, I need a headband It's Concreatures till I'm dead or In the fed pen
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Written by: Alan Maman, James Jones
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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