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    Damn...
    I don't do this for fun man
    It's my job, dawg
    All you see is the videos and the rings and the watch
    And the bracelet, and chains
    And you know, grills and more chains
    Another chain on top of that
    And another ring on another finger, and another grill
    And then I switch grills and then I change chains
    And that's all you see, but you know...

    'Ey
    I wake up early in the morning
    Hit the snooze button for hours
    Get up, hop into a two hundred thousand dollar shower
    Brush my teeth when I'm out it
    Remote start the Audi
    Kiss my boy, kiss my girl, kiss my wife, and then I'm outtie

    Damn
    Grind time from a struggle to a hussle
    "Aw man"s to "God damn"s
    From a clam to a mussel
    I ain't say you had it better
    But damn, did I tussle
    I ain't have much
    But if you tried to take it, I'll bust ya
    It feels like I done died
    'Cause every time I drive my past life flash
    Right in front of my eyes
    'Cause I'm not one of them guys
    That don't remember shit,
    Can't even go home and drive alone in this whip
    'Cause everybody want him gone
    But you got me fucked up
    If a nigga gon' be on YouTube saying'
    I ain't from my bowin' homes [?]

    So I'm gonna keep goin' strong
    And let you niggas go out of season
    As long as my kids is breathin'
    I'm doing this for a lot of reason
    I do it for my kids and they kids' kids
    And when I'm dead they come to my grave
    To tell me what they kids did, yeah
    I'mma tell 'em my style and how long I has hated on about it
    And how it took twenty minutes to make a song about it
    Even though I was young I was actin' grown about it
    Took some years, but eventually they left me 'lone about it
    Old folks cheering' me on 'cause they know I got it
    They see niggas get in the game and fold like origami

    But the only foldin' I'm doin' is when I'm at shows poppin'
    Got 'em fainting' like Michael Jackson, straight hos droppin'
    Then I go home, safely homie, there's no robbin'
    Gated community
    You gotta know the code, partna
    Walk up to the crib
    Lamborghini look so proper
    And six old-schools sittin' on 24" choppas
    White folks in my neighborhood think I'm the Dalai Lama
    'Specially when I come outside like roo sticky dima [?]

    But everything good gotta turn bad
    It's like the weekly drama,
    You know, lil' small shit,
    Like girls saying' they my baby mama
    But this music has made me calmer
    I now understand karma
    These niggas is mad,
    They wanna assassinate me
    Like Barack Obama
    But I graduated, School of Hard Knocks, summa cum laude

    On the side of the stage
    Like I am really 'bout to fuck this crowd up
    That makes me prouder, makes me a man
    If you ain't doin' what I'm' doin'
    You automatically a fan
    Damn, get on your knees please
    And praise God that he sent you somebody
    That can just tell you niggas these things

    Radio Killa, R&B King, T.P.
    The Music Jesus
    A.K.A. the Lord of the Three Rings

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    É permitida somente a visualização no site das letras de músicas encontradas aqui, vedada sua reprodução através de quaisquer outros meios (Lei 9610/98).Todas as letras de músicas são propriedade dos seus respectivos autores e divulgadas somente para fins educacionais.All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. All lyrics are provided for educational purposes only.