Curren$y, Smoke DZA, Fiend, Fendi P - The Usual Suspects lyrics

Kushed god, bitch jonesie
Sometimes you just need to be
Serenaded with the instrumental 183rd shit
Riiiight

Cooking up a batch ladies show they titties
Real niggas tip they caps, real trappers
For my hustler niggas with no choice
Posting up, slanging that oh boy
Stay on your grind
Only way to turn a 300 to a Rolls Royce
Life is good, nah, life is great
Now I'm 'bout to get my niggas straight
God bless a nigga with some legal ones
So I can stay off the interstate
Not everybody getting money
Not everybody selling out shows
Not everybody toured the world
Like four times, three albums in stores
From Australia up to Montauk
I kill 'em with the Don talk
And when it comes to this indie bread
I'm the Hip-Hop Thom Yorke
I'm too real for the radio heads
I'm an underground king
But these bitches can't stop my show
And that's word to the Pimp
Low eating lobster and shrimp
All the bad bitches want to link i'm like
Fuck with a real nigga and stop
Feeling bad for that simp
That's the other species
Come sip some of this PJ
And smoke some of this sweet tree
And everything will be geetchi dZA

I told your bitch like Alex Rawls
Mister Jones, full riding laws
Pop my calls in a ride with paws
Got a lot of nines, got a lot of fours
I'm a lane ward man, got a lot of goals
Know how to get the kitchen like a lot of O
Know when to burn out, before it's time to go
I'm a highlight reel so rewind it, ho
Pick them up, out the pound
Lighting up every time the Saints
Get a first down
Hold the flow so you can show us right now
You can get a purse and some work right now
This mack hand, ho, don't get the backhand
She chase ghosts like Ms pacman
He paid a ho to come back, fam god damn

They respect the Don
Eighteen karats with the red rubies
And Piguets is on
Platinum Rolex, double-roll bezel
And walk around with Alexis on
Courtside in my Concords
With my niggas wiling out, smoking out tours
Life's about choices, got to make yours
The right set of keys open up the right doors
We trying to turn a little
Something to a lot more
You gotta go a little further
Than you won't go
It's like a hundred out there
Had enough blow
I'm talking enough blow to make it below
Zero i'm the underdog's hero
To that dope boy, praying for a kilo
To the little nigga praying for a way out
Keep your head up, shorty
We gonna make it out made it out now
Hella stamps in my passport overseas airport
Coming through the hood up in foreign cars
Bitch, letting the weed flow
I'm hood rich, I can't change, ho
Meeting, smelling like weed smoke
Negotiate my record deal like a dope deal
Probably why a nigga take like a ki of dope
Nigga, you need a plug

Top soft, but I grind hard to afford
To weld them switches to my dashboard
Lowriders and all, exotics to NASCARs
Amongst all these stars
Seven grams in the raw
That's a Grammy award in my granddaddy car
With my granddaddy Kangol, higher than a halo
Sliced like tomato with precision
On them blades, ho
It don't go down until he say so
Extra cheese, hold the mayo
Got stacks in San Diego, now I'm hiding out
Large amounts to count
Just fill them duffel bags and weigh 'em
Spitta slayed 'em, no Santa
She's thirsty, get a Fanta
Bitch passing out, somebody fan her
Drive In Theatre fuck you thought this was