Like the limbs on ya feet, i suppose
Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,
People love hodgy i hate you though
The money, cars, and clothes, the riches and dough,
As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets
Neighbours washing cars and reading fucking magazines.
I decided to boss up, life's a bitch and i court her
And cook her so you can serve her in a special spicy burger
And it's 2 clips, i get out to play for
And i park cars i don't pay for the meter,
And i park cars i don't pay for the meter,
You wear a shirt, my records sell yes sir
You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,
A fuck that we will never give is like our pops
They disregard me, i guess they all got egos
Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,
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