3:47 feelin like some sort of reverend
Wonderin what would of happened
If my aborted developed
I just want my dogs to have hella spots like Cruela's
Those de'vils and those reserve notes that other government cheddar
I'm a king before I'm gone imma need a queen or a Coretta
And I promise to get it moist before I stick like an envelope
With a prenup in this bitch just in case it's all a set up
We're analog time to infants these mother fuckers can't tell us
Cuz We aint tighten our belt up and some of my niggas sell drugs that
We fail and fail forever and we can fall and help ourselves up
But these are thoughts of a fighter
Right now can't find my lighter so I lit this with my written
And wondered can I get higher
My fantasies manifest in the forms of the stacks and checks
And them women with perfect breasts
And I'm callin them boom box batteries
You know D's come in sets
Crack a smile for the Day-Days money was funny as Mike Epps
That shit made it hard to rest
My told me to get paid
Touché
Just make hits
Boucher
Just to rise, that soufflé
When I die, no bouquet
What the fuck, on her brain
Tell that bitch to behave
No do-rag
It's that new wave (x3)
I'm lovin life at the moment
It burn just right when I roll it
Imagine this nigga riding slow through Oakland in a Lotus
& Smoking some flower bomb where cops love to meet their quota
But I be easy, keep my j low, my j lo, Jennifer Lopez
Hit that store on the corner
Cheap liq and generic soda
Where without notice them stray bullets lifted that infant's soul up
So we tryin to move on up
Trying to get my dough up
Till my pockets get sent to fat camp
For some man they blow up
That platinum or Whoopi Gold
32s Irving Magic
She get her Cookie on
Don't pick them scabs that should grow
Then baby maybe we can grow
Like natural fros in ‘74
I'm dolomite to them socialites
Make them lie through their overbite
Bitch I know you came to fuck cuz you brought bags to stay overnight
That's common sense like Chicago rap
If Jesus had a Twitter, I wonder who he would follow back
Random thought tilt that bottle back
But watch yourself most hate is thrown
Behind your back like a Rondo pass
Get paid
Touch
Just make hits
Boucher
Just to rise, that souffl
When I die, no bouquet
What the fuck, on her brain
Tell that bitch to behave
No do-rag
It's that new wave (x3)
(X2)