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still trying to drop three albums by Labor Day, motherfucker Saturday morning cartoons Filling up a medical balloon with some hot sauce Goddamn, I saw
that I'd get it Crushing weed on the table While I sip on this twisted Tea I've been getting fucked up Since the boy was 16 Looking at you Ever since
on the check, Get Money, have money Bro, I signed my name on line and defined Who I’d be by making money all the time And all I wanted was a sign, got a goal I
went diamond Smashed twice bastards D-12 multi back to back Eminem the hardest sellin' artist in rap Stat quo the mixtape messiah In the phantom
And cop my album please We got the ganja surrounding good vibes in every place I'm on a level unclouded by negativity Nothing to say Trees from the golden
Never thought I'd be rappin' on the cypher This a blessin' Never thought I'd be rappin' for Premier This cat's a legend Never thought I'd get picked
broke Yeah Johnny Cash helped me get out of prison Long before Rodriguez stole that goat Ive been the rhinestone cowboy for so long I cant remember and I
Crept on, Conan'd like the barbarian I ain't a prince man I made some mischief With Will that got me in brown like Harry I'll light up your life like
Paper up, double pumpin', BIG, where's the loot? (loot, loot) It ain't safe, it ain't safe Mil' in cash in the safe French vanilla by the case Fuck
fucking weapon When I was three I was just a little G But if you looked in my eyes you'd see the future of a real MC And at the age of nine I wrote my first
sounds Like Elvis, Johnny Cash And a little bit of Waylon Jennings (You know that's true) I still sip well water right out of the hose Smoke so much weed
blowing her nose The theme song will not be Written by Jim Webb Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdinck
boy On the outskirts, of what works Live those who go for broke, and merk to get merked Live by the sword and die by the semi Not part of my ways, but
They 'boutta hit this muhfuckin' album (Oh oh-Oh, yeah yeah yeah yeah, whoa) Yeah-Yeah-Yeah-Yeah I done seen a lot of things, yeah yeah Nowadays, sit
No I.D. Make a couple platinum records in that bitch and then I dip up out it On the 101, my wife text me Talkin' 'bout, "You gotta get home, feed
shoulder Cuz it’s not safe Burning hot plate On ice Praying that he doesn’t get stopped On the block by the cops They be coming for his life Look 12:45
up Hunnit bands from the safe in your face, what'd you say? Money dance, turn this shit into a nightclub Ayy, yeah, fuck with me and get some
*Royce talking* D-12, worst fucking rap group ever (You ready?) Royce Da 5'9" would like to apologize to the family of my homeboy Bugz for lettin'
a problem with that subject By hearing my album I know that’s Something they regret Should of went and took the bet Instead of being in ya house right Now
at 3am I'd hit you back how much I never sold no drugs but shit I sure did em If I had nowhere to ash holes was in my own denim The plug stopped givin' me
shine, but im no Johnny Deng When I get that check , I'll put on a team Counting cheddar I moving up on to finer thing Gucci sweaters , some prada shoes
ceased That's that West Coast country boy from them Bay Area streets That's my hitman, Sleegram, and Killer Keese Kool Nut, Johnny Cash, Pac, y'all please
Gang Boy, I start on one, I let y'all know This gon' be the hardest and realest album y'all heard in a minute Boy, it still ain't go Ayy, I'm that
kid needs a story to go to sleep It's just a Johnny Cash album on the record player playing old songs for you and me Take a polaroid picture then put it
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