Lyrics:
just now, skimming through 'Rogue
Herries' by Horace Walpole
When suddenly I came over all peckish
Wensleydale: Peckish, sir?
Mousebender: Esurient
of these hoes with the same sorry
Thinking that I care about sorry
I was on my own and made it up by lonely
Bitch I got the bag my bitch bad and the money
Roxy's got the rock that's just
Got to be seen just as soon as Chica's
Cleaned out the canteen
Hear the cry of the fans as
We strike up the band
Now
back
Like that
Just breathe, while their mama grieve
Bullet to the dome like an Aleve
Got to leave for the premises, to murder my nemesis
No, no, uh, uh
The Audition, OP
Hahahaha
I just wanna get paid that's all
Get the mulla then I slay (Slay slay) Yolo
Wanna do it for ma hood
Make sure that they
it ain’t making dollars
For Dolla
But cost a dollar
And in turn causing
The Howard’s to suffer
I ain’t got it
Nope
Can’t do it
I done paid my dues
the plane
And I got paid for it
Jump out the bed, jump out the bed
And I got paid for it we paid for it
We paid for it
We ain’t never fallin’ off cause
We was
grief, cook that batch!
And you will see
I finally see what you mean by levels now
Fuck these niggas with a passion
These n***as bitches, they actin' just
Music on that beat boy
On that beat, on that beat
Music on that beat boy
On that beat, on that beat
We acting like we just got paid (Paid)
Acting
(We got paid)
Acting like we just got money (Got money)
Acting like we just got cash
By mistake, we so big (So big)
By mistake look at us we got cash
or a quarter, boy I treat it all the same
Get paid
I'm just trina get paid
Hit the Russell Westbrook, make a play in 3 ways
I done got it out the mud, but I was
yay
Dem Boyz got purp, Dem Boyz got haze
Dem Boyz got glocks, Dem Boyz got K's
Dem Boyz got blocks, Dem Boyz gettin paid
(Young Jeezy)
If its
love that kind of thing, don’t you
you just love this sort of thing, don’t you:
the privileged, powerless gentry of yore
embalmed by a misguided
Yeah, yeah
It's like 4:30 something in the morning
Nigga just got back from St. Eves and shit
Fucking with this nigga Chaz, yeah
Why don't you
It makes no difference in this life
Up and ups just fine
Gonna up and up this life
Til' we're go down on our luck
It makes no difference in
But when the drive-by hit this is the main route
What the fuck is my problem nigga?
I got a glock seventeen better gobble them
So why should I trip,
on 'em
Dope money with a band on it
Half gold, we got a hand on it
D-boys still ball the same
Just gotta little bit of glam on it
Yah
I got flames
gimme me my respect
I slaughter emcees with tremendous ease
From the first to third-degree their final words are always
"Gentry that's not funny dude
paid? You wanna get laid?
Pimp Yearlings in 360 ways
Live your life in an ill real way
Got 6 rides in your little drive-way
You get mad puff-lie all day
begging I got bad knees
First I'm gonna start out with my city
Then go to Richmond one by one and make it litty
Do it by myself don't need no pitty
I can
then send your moma some flowers
I get paid by the pound, not paid by the hour
I got star power
I got star power
New Ferrari came with 600 horse
you live it
Make the money just to spend it yuh
I want the money and the power uh huh
Yeah getting paid by the hour you know
Money rain make it shower
the doctors
Nurses watching, whispering like "that's the one right there
Who got the lady in labor on 9 and the other lady dying on 5"
By this time I don't
I come from the projects, get shot by a kid
We rolling around with pistols and ganja
When I fuck up some paper, I just listen to 'Commas'
I can
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