Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,
Best believe i'm leaving with more of those
Fat rhymes every time, bitch, roseanne bars
All they talk about is money, weed, and cars/
To the point that he just breaks, snaps, and it's all it takes
But all i hear is "money, hoes, i'm the shit, cars and chains",
And it is to drive in all these fancy cars
The big bad wolf to me you're just a minor fox
Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,
And them hating ass niggas, we ain’t like those
Money drugs and women seem to be the only the the radio can play! (*white noise sound*)
Then it's back to the corner where we sell cracksome of you niggas is bustas, you running round
And last but not least please don't tell no one
With plenty of money and women
I be murdering bars
Whiskey cigars and fast cars?
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