Lyrics:
came from rags to riches, I'm the shit
I can no longer disguise it, bitch, 'cause I'm rich
I got cars galore, lil' bitch, 'cause I'm rich
I escaped
for that busta shit
By the time I was 9, seen a bunch of shit
Lost more homies than a Iraq vet
Niggas skipping on groceries to buy that Tec
Lost a few
Now, Chris Rock, where you at?
I heard you say some shit about some blacks,
Nigga, this been your ass back.
Come see the real deal.
Stay in
the shit went down it's like I lost my brother (ayy)
And I wish we could trade places
Swear to God, dawg, I wish we could trade places
Livin' a life
Uh, yeah, y'all, guess who is back?
Probably sold ya momma crack
Yeah, yeah, Scott Storch (return of the great)
Mr. M-E-F (aww shit) know what I
I'm a G, you can't see, me
That must be, why you're talkin'
(Shut your mouth bitch)
I'm the shit, and you know, it
Never stops, there's no
Pull the rag off the six-fo'
Hit the switch, show niggas how the shit go
The Game is back, the Aftermath chain is gone
The D's is chrome, the frame
What it do doc
This ya boy yo gotti
You know I'm affiliated with them affiliates
And this is gangsta shit
Gloc forty, dope money make my pants
walk around like I just don't care
Once you get a grip
If I have to, I'll grab my fifth
And throw shit up, put your hands in the air
I'm
These niggas just hating they ain't talking 'bout shit
I'm a grown ass man I flip my own brick
I don't need yo help I can hold my own dick
Ain't no
Rollin' in a golden Tacoma, the shit's stolen
If that bitch tell on me, I'ma do a fuckin' drive-by in her colon
With my meat, gotta keep it obsolete
shit
I got an ounce about to cut it into stones
Next stop, Port Arthur, Texas, I work it in the Lones
I'm a little nigga on his hustle 'bout to rise
in a fantasy, that's how you cope
Go ahead, kick the shit out of me
It just fuels the comedy
Feel that you're superior, I feel your just plain
a nigga better, stop that shit mama
In other words you better watch that shit cause you got that shit
The way your ass sit up all on your back
Its like
to bang
Nigga don't think shit stink, then shit hit the fans
So I don't slip, I'ma shit with my gun in my hand
It's a thug thing y'all niggas wouldn't
Man like e'rythang fiddin to work out
Like dis shit fiddin ta jump 'cause
This shit fiddin ta jump like a trapoline
I promise you, you feel me
[Bo
that shit (that shit)
That hardcore rough shit (rough shit)
Motherfuckers, blow your horns
Then SMASH SUMTHIN, CRASH SUMTHIN
If you want that shit
Ha Ha Ha Uh Yeah Yeah
While we hit you with another one of them old phenomenal shits
Nineteen ninety six that nigga comes through with another
[Havoc]
Won't stop 'til the casket drop
The shit don't pop, better believe I have that work on the block
With my left on the hammer, the other
think shit stink, then shit hit the fans
So I don't slip, I'ma shit with my gun in my hand
It's a thug thing y'all niggas wouldn't understand and
Y'all
And me I'm in a bucket but fuck it, that's how it is, shit
I got an ounce about to cut it into stones
Next stop: Port Arthur, Texas, I work it in
shit
Man listen to this
Don't y'all forget the ice man
Aight you want somethin' too fool
OK
Top of the line wine, Carlo Rossi, Carlos Rossi
Top
the shit goes down
'Cause we warring
All you fucking yellow comets running from the front line
If anybody wanna get away hey
I'll find your fucking ass
that shit up! (Come on)
Take money money! (Come on) Brick City Mashin'! (Come on)
Stolen cars! (Come on) Counterfeit bills! (Come on)
Freak that shit
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