The Usual Suspects Songtext

Now everybody told the world like four times
3 albums in stores
Come on straight up the morning talk
I came in with the gun talk
And when it came to this in this bread
I'm the hip-hop turn me up
I'm too real for the radio heads, I'm a underground king
But these bitches can't stop my show
And that's word to the pim
Loadin lops and shrimp, all these bad bitches wanna lay
I'm like fuck with a real nigga and stop feelin bad for that sim
That's the other see she's
Come sip some of this PG
And smoke some of this sweet tree
And everything will be BG

Uh shit, I told yo bitch like I was rolls
Mister Jones, go around the laws
Got my calls and the rob reports
I done lied em down, down the 94 I'm a label man, got a lot of those
Know how to get the picture but them lot of O
No winter burn off so it's time to go
I'm on hot like wheels so we runnin hoe
Getting up, out the pound
Lighten up the return, it's thanksgiving first down
Hold the flo so you can chase right now
You can get the bracelets to fit right now
Just mack hand, hold on get the back hand
She chase ghosts like Mrs. Pacman
He play the hoe to come back fam
Goddamn!

They respect the don, 18 karats with the red rugas and the gas is on
Platinum Rolex, double robe
So walk around with a Lexus on
Courtside of my car cost
When my niggas wildin out, smoking out toss
Life's about choices, gotta make yours
The right set of keys open up the right doors
We tryna turn around something to a lot more
You gotta go a little further than you wanna go
It's like 100 out there, had enough blow
I'm talkin bout blow and make it B roll, a zero
I'm the other dogs' hero
To that dope boy playin for a kilo
Til a lil nigga playin for a way out
Keep you head up Shawty, we gon make it out
Made it out now, turn the stamp, see my passport
Overseas airport
Comin through the hood, up in foreign cars
Bitch letting the weed flow
I'm hood rich, I can't change hoe
Need to smell like weed smoke
Negotiate my record deal like a dope deal
Probably why a nigga take like a kill go
Nigga you need you a prop
Goddamn!

Talk soft but I grind hard to afford
Don't want them switches to my dashboard
Low riders and all, exotics to last cars
Amongst all these stars, 7 grams in a row
That's a Grammy award and my granddaddy call
Where my granddaddy can't go higher than the halo
Slice like tomato with precision on them blades hoe
It don't go down until he say so, extra cheese, hold the mayo
That's back to San Diego, now I'm hidin out
Large amount to count, just fill them duffle bags and weigh em
Spill just lay them, no fana
She's thirsty, get a Fanta
Bitch passin out, somebody fan er