Skyscrapers

歌詞

Money, money, money Duffle bag on the floor (Yes) Blowing fast, let it go (Yes) Raise a glass for the coast (Coast) We the last of the GOATS Niggas funny when they broke (What?) Say they love me when they don't (No) With the C's and the B's I get money with 'em both (What up, though?) Floor seats, fuck the bleachers, back to breathing that ether (Ooh) Ridin' around with a feature (Ah), nigga, this the Mona Lisa Fuck being lyrical, I'm a walking miracle Vultures in my cereal, music is my vehicle, negro spiritual Slidin' down Imperial, nigga, this a different texture Homie, I ain't with the extras, full clip for the hecklers (What, what?) In the hood I'm a pharaoh, blue rag my apparel (Yeah) Party at the hotel (Yah), never hear a ho tell (Shh) I'm the shit if I do say, gin and juice over D'USSÉ Strippers jumping out of Snoop cake, lil' nigga, how the truth taste? In the meanwhile, I'm digging through these weed piles Mama, look at me now (Look at me), Martha on speed dial (Ayy) Verified in the streets, rap sheet, got a lot of fans Energy, Long Beach, see through 'em like a hologram Chasin' a bill', back in the field, got my conceal, call it Lucille Keepin' it trill on Cypress Hill, you got to be real (Whoop, whoop) This shit here built to last, had to break the hourglass Slow money come fast, it's just a doggy bag Now go 'head and get mad, never been a kiss-ass Them woke me out my slumber 'bout to do numbers on your bitch ass To all my young Black entrepreneurs, stack paper Skyscrapers, get you some motherfucking haters And my young rap entrepreneurs, reach your goals Fuck them hoes, through the concrete grew a rose Ain't tell you that the world was yours? Stack your paper Skyscrapers, fuck all you motherfucking haters All my young rich entrepreneurs, keep your vision Fuck your system, turn that cap into capitalism John Wilkes in the booth, I'm a hundred rope when I shoot So tailor-made in my suit, I'm the Michael J of my group This Johnny Blaze and that's Snoop, and that's Dr. Dre in the coupe He get the cue, I don't Bishop, ain't no O.J. in this juice Another day, 'nother pick up, but I ain't playing no hoops With this inner circle, I figured I'd try and stay in the loops Stick to the script, this a stick-up, but I'ma stick to the truth Black thought with a Black fist up like I'ma stick to my roots I'm hot, boss, don't slip in New York, I'm drippin' with hot sauce And I'm feelin' real Gucci, that means I'm drippin' on knock-offs Party just like a rockstar and I'm sippin' a Rockstar Your woman think I'm crack and I know I'm gettin' my rocks off Most these rappers is fiends, I mean, they know where the rocks are It's like they hit the rock and hit rock-bottom to rock hard But me and Boss Dogg keep a Roscoe like Boss Hogg My cause? Just because, and 'cause you lost, you a lost cause Go 'head and get bad, I'ma go 'head and get cash And I don't get sleep, I get big bags, you big mad