| Lyrics: | Can I do my thang??
*(Yukmouth)*
Speak on
it.
*(Brownstone)*
Oh, oh, ohhh.
Oh, oh, ohh, hey.
Verse 1
*(Yukmouth)*
Uh.
Niggaz be havin the mutha fuckin blues,
like 5-0-5's
I
won't lie,
homicide,
gram will cry,
pray for me that I won't
die,
suicide,
I won't try,
bullets fly,
drive-by,
don't let it slide, do or
die,
you an I, slide by,
catch them niggaz off my side,
wit nothin to hide body die
rot,
on they porch,
when I expectin some sort of drive-by,
type
retaliation,
under styles I lace, MOBBulation,
lets begin breakin down the
situation,
when, the end of our frustration,
so while we racin down the block, wit a
thirty-eight, an glock,
the cops is waitin to umm,
accelerate on yo vehicle,
run down
yo vehicle,
even if they have to gun down yo vehicle,
nigga, up in these
high-speedaz,
police they be the Rosco Bico train,
swervin in an outta lanes,
runnin
from O-H-A,
what they throw away,
eh, though, eh, way,
pistol,
every mutha fucka
wanna peep.
Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)*
Millionaire!
Dreams of
big millions play.
Ever seen a sad millionaire?
I thought that money make us
happy.
Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)*
What if I was a millionaire,
huh,
a
major playa on the block,
that a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn't stop,
hella
strap happy,
cuz niggaz slangin all my rocks,
point yo gats at me,
I don't know where
uzis to yo knot,
fo fuckin wit the big shot,
I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the
ground,
be down,
that's one of my shit, an get shot,
only the baddest bitches
jock,
get chosen,
global shouts,
for bitches out there who be voguin,
on the
collar of poppa,
brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa,
where niggaz strapped fo
real, like Chubacca,
who got the gonga,
cuz I be high like phone doctor,
spark on
vodka,
eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra,
Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot
ya,
like Vinny Blanca,
come back in the end juss to haunt ya,
plus I twist a Benz
like Big Poppa,
what's the big proper use,
go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be
a,
millionaire playa.
Chorus x2
Verse 3
*(Yukmouth)*
Uh.
You niggaz juss created a monsta,
fuck a type, I smoke
gonga,
in the Bahammas,
fuckin yo baby mama,
doggystyle (whoo,wee!)
two wow,
you wow,
doubt man,
who wow "Bout it, Bout it",
niggaz be claimin they be the Ice
Cream Man,
but I doubt it, doubt it,
be rowdy,
hit the paper chasin clout
it,
sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot,
smokin blunts, an
crunchin weed, sex,
fresh outta drug rehabs,
spend two g's at every function I be
at,
believe that, BITCH!!
Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot,
grab bitches by the
throat-a-lot,
that's what ya told the cops,
I hold the glock,
aim it an
fire,
retire another nigga,
nameless,
game is fo hire,
desire chariots
fire,
light as I'm a tuck her,
we're so called "potnaz", fuck 'em,
an dust em off wit
a choppa, I can't rush 'em,
gotta bust 'em,
too skinny I can't trust 'em,
an when the
mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to love 'em,
an that's fo real.
Nigga.
Chorus x5
*(Yukmouth talking during chorus)*
Have all
this fuckin money, an still ain't happy. Nigga, still got
problems wit stress, mutha fuckaz
juss think you got it made, they try
to rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna
love you. Fuck
money, I wish I didn't have it, cuz when I didn't have it it was all
good, niggaz loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the store.
Now ya got
money everybody wanna kill me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna
do you, skanless boy, this is
Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks.
Millionaire |
