Lyrics:
Got the same ray bans as Morena Bacarrin
These the same Air Forces used to run from a dog in
Im the same young man that I was when I started
Only
Real legend like I'm Sugar Ray (wha)
Bout the money and I'm on the way (yep)
If they talking then I let em hate (what?)
Fake **** I don't tolerate (I
Real legend like I'm Sugar Ray (wha)
Bout the money and I'm on the way (yep)
If they talking then I let em hate (what?)
Fake **** I don't tolerate (I
Look don't worry about the streets, the streets ain't changing
Me I'm doing good dog, hope y'all maintaining
These hos ain't changed man, we still bang
work, honesty an' a good dog.
I hope my Daddy Ray wasn't the last of a dyin' breed.
He's a cold beer drinker, a buck n' bear hunter:
The best friend
the traffic like I'm jaywalking
I go for the hoop, call me Michael, different J walking
I do this by myself it's no one else, I'm not walkie-talking
It hurts my
the ghost of Biggie
My mind state
Like the crime rate
I think I'm John Gotti
Hit niggaz in the head, with that all red Ferrari
Like the black Liberace
the ghost of Biggie
My mind state
Like the crime rate
I think I'm John Gotti
Hit niggaz in the head, with that all red Ferrari
Like the black Liberace
doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the
Restaurant, in the bell tower with her husband Ray and Facha, the dog
And livin' in
triller than Scott
Ain't nobody trill, man, I'm takin' they spot, yeah
These niggas is scared
Thirtys in the city movin' slow
Thirty, thirty,
Featuring Frank McComb
Written by: Mark Simmons, Gregg D. Moore, Zachary Glenn & Bobby Ray Sparks II
SIM SOUNDS 72 (BMI), GREG D. MOORE (BMI),
reap flow n-gga
Gettin swallowed by the Maybach deep throat n-gga
Uh, I’ma bout to go planters,
I’m still in my prime, Dion Sanders
We all gamblers,
approval rating by serving your ass with words fool
Slam yo' back to the curve bra, like sanitation worker
'Cause ya trash, I'm taking out the trash and all
play we vets
It's west coast foe life no crew only sets
[Ice cube]
It's the dog breathin' through the smog
I'm a hog of this gangster s***
Don
what her drawls say
Nigga yousa hater ol sucky muhfucka
I'm just trapping through the gudda I'm a lucky muhfucka
Call me J.R. hammer ain't no way that
a call from my dog name Jalen
And when he hear this song he gon probably think I'm crazy
See we just had a good conversation
Plus he rep Baltimore
there Trill
(Do yo thing dog)
I'm a take 'em all the way there Boo
I'm a take 'em all the way there Trill
(Spitter ya hand ip)
Ay I'm chillin' like
a nigga reach
My dogs will bite you and guess who the nigga leash
I was once told by my nigga Meach
You feed a sucka' he just grow to be a bigger leach
Even though I'm booling I always get weight off
We sending shots through your eyes
You belong to the blind
Now they calling you Ray Charles
Remona I
got it on dog Shit Militia, we got
Sticks, wе got pape', huh
Monkey nuts and banana clips, we somе apes
Huh got the neck then I
Disappeared, now I'm
touched down nigga and this pack a lil' darker
Dog food bricks and cocaina them, now they look darker
Dark skin brick I'm touching it and with it whipping
the Tre
I'm gettin' money, I'm stuck in my ways
Bitch, you ain't me 'cause I gotta get paid
Niggas be talkin', got shooters like Ray
Slide in
to shit, but I say
I'm a beast
I'm just a dog on his leash
Gotta release myself to be free
See a preacher to be
More in line with myself and to summon my chi
play we vets
It's west coast foe life no crew only sets
[Ice Cube]
It's the dog breathing through the smog
I'm a hog of this gangster shit
Don
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