Believe me i'mma be your god
Squeak your hooters bitch, and keep your day job
He couldnt flip a pancake.. i wonder how he got the job
On the top, was my pops, my momma screamin stop
Who’s job is the abatement
I stuff you in the trunk, drunk
You have no job, just lazy.
No cadillac, no perms, you can't see
We charging you niggas up you like it or not
I'm just sayin' i got fuckin' problems, mama's got a job,
So i can prove you bastards wrong, and fuckin finish the job
I'm optimistic like playing keeno with all that you got
I'm not an asshole i just don't give a fuck a lot
Try to focus on school, as music will never be your job,
Your enemies was the prey and now you pray to god
I'm just sayin' i got fuckin' problems, mama's got a job,
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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