Lyrics
All draped in teal
Givin' 'em something they can feel
You can call me the Man Of Steel
Kryptonite couldn’t kill
Giving all reasons to chill
Bumping Keep It On The Real
And you blindfolded
If you thought wasn’t gone make it a mil' bitch
Been trying to further since the sixth grade
It’s urgent that I get paid
Flowamatic when my shit laid
And representing that 3 Kray'
Mind set on one thang (What's that?)
That skrilla, scratch, two strikes head of the gate
And just kick it like a skank
Some suckers hate
But not dem playa, man they love me
And always got something to say looking lovely
Smelly
Me, Big Ben and Charlie
Rolling spiffy
And spinning like the rear end of a nifty
I strictly, take the on me
Hit the cock, something loud then I pass it to my homie
Chicks be phony
Paging me and B at the same time
Seeing who’ll call back first but ain’t mine
I gots no time to wine and dine
Cause once they’ve been on the phone it’s just a waste of time
Off the rine
And blunts, them stunts be devastating
is out the window which is why the whole car fit
I’m trying to stack my chips
(So I) Clock a grip
(Then I) Make some hits
(And I) Hate to snitch
(So I) Sticks to scripts
Hits my licks
(It ain’t nothing like them big head green dead presidents)
change your Franklins
They don’t take shits in the telly
and ready for fetti so bring the steak and spaghetti
Niggas done let me
Dig deep in they fucking grab bag
Can’t flip cause deep in they wallets is where my cash at
I’m on a
First come, first serve basis
When I hit the casinos, I’m headed out Reno to Vegas
Stacking potatoes
No to call the consequence
Evident I’m about my scratch and I’m about to represent
Through the crowd
Freaking it loud with Omega
Fresh out like Mike but coming back like the Raiders
Uh, I kill 'em in my gators
Just pimping and players
Linens, cannoli’s and Rollies, I’m headed straight to the tailors
Give a fuck I’m in Vegas bitch
So raise up the dank from Killa Cali
To Bali, they feed us and steaks
These bitches beg us for plates
So they touching sidewalks and bullies
Better prepare for the schooling
Never worry I’m overruling
Don’t talk till ya do it
Plus pissy drunk off the fluid
Hookers good looking the crooked looking for B.A. to do it?
I can’t wait for the mission to kill it
Just getting skrilla from stack millions
500 drop on the spot on top of the ceiling
That’s on the reala
A pimp in my
Fucking rhyme
Like 'Ball and MJG make sure you call it like you see it
Just a genius
I know ya seen us
In the wind
So perving is just a matter of time before I do you in
Off the gin, 500 Benz
Got me sliding
So bury the player haters and knock the game out the line
It’s going down in the Bay
Flossing cold cash around your area
Thought you heard of a nigga that’s stacking mo' chips
Than the Bank Of America
Dropping them bombs like a specialist
Finger eager to kill 'em all up
Murderous mind, no misdemeanor
Listen to the bark of my nine go «buck»
Sparking off the krazyomatic
Sparking up my bluntomatic
Stacking chips up in the attic
Buck 'em every time with the Flowamatic
Get ready to get dusted
Fill up the bag with all your cash or catch a blast
No bluff we busting
So run everybody gon' do math by A.G.E
This sick-o-path
Wait till your body shoot through running your mouth
Hit 'em up with the pump then put him in the trunk with the bump
Crazy, mistreat that ass, I’m catching a blast
Talking like some loud mouth bastard
Is enough to have that ass subtracted
They claiming they be jacking
But I’m a tell you niggas be acting when they rapping
Got shit full blown that’s backwards
Prolly got a lil' strap but scared to bust a strap
Come around my way busting strap
Nigga I’m talking 'bout busting back
Results of this money and the power
Making about a G an hour
Running machines around this bitch and buck to ya cowards
And I ain’t forgot about what you said ho
Nigga you’ll come up missing from that lead smoke
Cap that ass, 'fore we mack that ass, another dead foe
Hit him up, get him up, pick him up
I pop my trunk, no need for that ambulance
That boy ain’t getting up
Call the coroner to pick him up
Zip him up, split him up, technical chopping the funk
Got big enough fucking with
get sick enough
Gotta get my cash like Mitchell
Get your cats before they get you
It’s clear as the picture in my 600 Benz
That I’m out for my dead presidents