Paul Wall - Bread On The Menu lyrics
[Paul Wall - Bread On The Menu lyrics]
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
It's all about my brick 45 bitch
You got the bread bread
Got the bread on the menu
Money call clothes the type of
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Get your
Get your own bread I don't gotta call the
You already know I walk up in the
Corner store smelling like some dro'
Polo on my body got them Jordans on my toe
(retro) i'm covered up in ice my
Chest is twelve below (below)
Rolex on my wrist and I wear it like a pro
(fo sho) i'm at the Rockets game somewhere
Sittin' on the floor
I'm right behind the bench
I don't even know the score
I'm leaning up the foe and I'm
Bout to post some more
I'm bout to hear the dreams
Holla at the homie though
I'm ridin with G look and be done in my bros
My mind on the paper so
My pocket full of dough
Till they put me in the grave I'm
A get it til I go
I got the dopest clothes that
Mean I keep protection
So much bread on me my
Pockets got a yeast infection
I got that Wonder Bread, Mrs baird's
Nature's Own and I ain't sharin shit bitch
Go make your own damn that's a lot of dough
Yeah that Ciabatta ho
I'm offering drinks with so much ones
Liek guess a dollar store
You got that funny money you boys comedians
My money talk so God damn bad
It's disobedient the root of all evil, bread
The sweetest sin send me to hell
Hand me my plate bitch I'm gonna eat again
Wallet full of grands
I ain't cooking biscuit's
Got all my grub found out the
Size of my bank account terrific
My mind on my paper, my hand on my heater
A trill talk speaker and I
Speak it through ya speakers
Swisher full of reefer and a
Bottle full of sleepers
I'll talk ya out ya money
I could've been a preacher
The truth can't get deep but lies run deeper
So my pistol on my waste by
My belt like a beeper
Posted on a block somethin'
Like a parking meter my frontin money old
Like them wild margaritas
I got a lot yards you come by the meter
I got a lot of drink and I pour by the liter
I gotta lot of hustles and
Some of them illegal
I'm a grind all day 'til
I meet the Grim Reaper
It's all about my brick 45 bitch
You got the bread bread
Got the bread on the menu
Money call clothes the type of
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
Get your
Get your own bread I don't gotta call the
You already know I walk up in the
Corner store smelling like some dro'
Polo on my body got them Jordans on my toe
(retro) i'm covered up in ice my
Chest is twelve below (below)
Rolex on my wrist and I wear it like a pro
(fo sho) i'm at the Rockets game somewhere
Sittin' on the floor
I'm right behind the bench
I don't even know the score
I'm leaning up the foe and I'm
Bout to post some more
I'm bout to hear the dreams
Holla at the homie though
I'm ridin with G look and be done in my bros
My mind on the paper so
My pocket full of dough
Till they put me in the grave I'm
A get it til I go
I got the dopest clothes that
Mean I keep protection
So much bread on me my
Pockets got a yeast infection
I got that Wonder Bread, Mrs baird's
Nature's Own and I ain't sharin shit bitch
Go make your own damn that's a lot of dough
Yeah that Ciabatta ho
I'm offering drinks with so much ones
Liek guess a dollar store
You got that funny money you boys comedians
My money talk so God damn bad
It's disobedient the root of all evil, bread
The sweetest sin send me to hell
Hand me my plate bitch I'm gonna eat again
Wallet full of grands
I ain't cooking biscuit's
Got all my grub found out the
Size of my bank account terrific
My mind on my paper, my hand on my heater
A trill talk speaker and I
Speak it through ya speakers
Swisher full of reefer and a
Bottle full of sleepers
I'll talk ya out ya money
I could've been a preacher
The truth can't get deep but lies run deeper
So my pistol on my waste by
My belt like a beeper
Posted on a block somethin'
Like a parking meter my frontin money old
Like them wild margaritas
I got a lot yards you come by the meter
I got a lot of drink and I pour by the liter
I gotta lot of hustles and
Some of them illegal
I'm a grind all day 'til
I meet the Grim Reaper