billy woods - Dead Broke (Dub Plate) lyrics
[billy woods - Dead Broke Dub Plate lyrics]
Another one smokes the dust
Another one smokes the dust
Another one smokes the dust
Sixteen bars is a jail cell
I’d rather acapell in hell
Who cares if it don’t sell
That’s why I got a scale
It’s that real, places to go, weed to deal
Five hundred an ounce, that’s a steal
Hook a crook, one way or another
Every nigga ain’t my brother
Every girl I sex ain’t my lover
Sent wood to your mother
Fat like Sally Struthers
I can’t believe it’s not butter
Iron out the wrinkles
My eye got that twinkle
Producers playing Rip Van Winkle
I told you, no sleep til Brooklin
No phone calls for central booking
Fifty percent crime, he's all shooken
Avoid the noid, domino effect
Started out for respect
Then elects anonymous sex
Yeah ok I could use the jet
And a nigga just to light my cigarette
Very good Jeeves
A&Rs got long tricks and short sleeves
Complimentary sweets
Get Rod Stewart to do my beats
And say I’m soul street
With made-for TV rap sheets
Stayed chilling with police
Brag about my heat
Sales weak so you searching for beef
And once shots fly, guess you copping a plea
That’s dead broke
To rap star in thirty motherfucking bars
Another one smokes the dust
Another one smokes the dust
Sixteen bars is a jail cell
I’d rather acapell in hell
Who cares if it don’t sell
That’s why I got a scale
It’s that real, places to go, weed to deal
Five hundred an ounce, that’s a steal
Hook a crook, one way or another
Every nigga ain’t my brother
Every girl I sex ain’t my lover
Sent wood to your mother
Fat like Sally Struthers
I can’t believe it’s not butter
Iron out the wrinkles
My eye got that twinkle
Producers playing Rip Van Winkle
I told you, no sleep til Brooklin
No phone calls for central booking
Fifty percent crime, he's all shooken
Avoid the noid, domino effect
Started out for respect
Then elects anonymous sex
Yeah ok I could use the jet
And a nigga just to light my cigarette
Very good Jeeves
A&Rs got long tricks and short sleeves
Complimentary sweets
Get Rod Stewart to do my beats
And say I’m soul street
With made-for TV rap sheets
Stayed chilling with police
Brag about my heat
Sales weak so you searching for beef
And once shots fly, guess you copping a plea
That’s dead broke
To rap star in thirty motherfucking bars