Let the suicide doors up |
I threw suicides on the tour bus |
I threw suicides on the private jet |
You know what that mean, I'm fly to death |
I step in Def Jam buildin' like I'm the shit |
Tell 'em give me fifty million or I'ma quit |
Most rappers' taste level ain't at my waist level |
Turn up the bass 'til it's up-in-yo-face level |
Don't do no press but I get the most press kit |
Plus, yo, my bitch make your bitch look like Precious |
Somethin' 'bout Mary, she gone off that molly |
Now the whole party is melted like Dalí |
Now everybody is movin' they body |
Don't sell me apartment, I'll move in the lobby |
Niggas is loiterin' just to feel important |
You gon' see lawyers and niggas in Jordans |
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She said, "'Ye, can we get married at the mall?" |
I said, "Look, you need to crawl 'fore you ball |
Come and meet me in the bathroom stall |
And show me why you deserve to have it all." |
(Ball so hard) That shit cray, ain't it Jay? |
What she order, fish filet? |
"Your whip so cold" – this old thing? |
Act like you'll ever be around mothafuckas like this again |
Bougie girl, grab my hand |
Fuck that bitch; she don't wanna dance |
Excuse my French, but I'm in France, I'm just sayin' |
Prince Williams ain't do it right if you ask me |
'Cause I was him I would have married Kate and Ashley |
What's Gucci, my nigga? What's Louis, my killa? |
What's drugs, my dealer? What's that jacket, Margiela? |
Doctors say I'm the illest |
'Cause I'm suffering from realness |
Got my niggas in Paris and they going gorillas, huh |
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Break records at Louis, ate breakfast at Gucci |
My girl a superstar all from a home movie |
Bow on our arrival - the un-American idols |
What niggas did in Paris, got 'em hanging off the Eiffel |
Yeah I'm talking business, we talking CIA |
I'm talking George Tenet, I seen him the other day |
He asked me about my Maybach, think he had the same |
Except mine tinted and his might have been rented |
You know white people get money, don't spend it |
Or maybe they get money, buy a business |
I rather buy 80 gold chains and go ign'ant |
I know Spike Lee gon' kill me, but let me finish |
Blame it on the pigment, we living no limits |
Them gold Master P ceilings was just a figment |
Of our imagination, MTV cribs |
Now I'm looking at a crib right next to where TC lives |
That's Tom Cruise, whatever she accuse |
He wasn't really drunk he just had a frew brews |
Pass the refreshments, a cool, cool beverage |
Everything I do need a news crew's presence |
Speedboat swerve, homie watch out for the waves |
I'm way too black to burn from sun rays |
So I just meditate at the home in Pompeii |
About how I could build a new Rome in one day |
Everytime I'm in Vegas they screaming like he's Elvis |
But I just wanna design hotels and nail it |
Shit is real, got me feeling Israelian |
Like Bar Refaeli, or Gisele - no, that's Brazilian |
Went through, deep depression when my momma passed |
Suicide, what kinda talk is that? |
But I been talking to God for so long |
That if you look at my life I guess he's talking back |
Fucking with my clique |
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What you doin' in the club on a Thursday? |
She say she only here for her girl birthday |
They ordered champagne but still look thirsty |
Rock Forever 21 but just turned thirty |
I know I got a bad reputation |
Walking-round-always-mad reputation |
Leave-a-pretty-girl-sad reputation |
Start a Fight Club, Brad reputation |
I turnt the nightclub out of the basement |
I'll turn the plane 'round, your ass keep complainin' |
How you gon' be mad on vacation? |
Dutty wining 'round all these Jamaicans |
Uh, this that prom shit |
This that what-we-do-don't-tell-your-mom shit |
This that red-cup-all-on-the-lawn shit |
Got a fresh cut, straight out the salon, bitch |
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I wanna fuck you hard on the sink |
After that, give you somethin' to drink |
Step back, can't get spunk on the mink |
I mean damn, what would Jeromey Romey Romey Rome think? |
Hey, you remember where we first met? |
Okay, I don't remember where we first met |
But hey, admittin' is the first step |
And hey, you know ain't nobody perfect |
And I know, with the hoes I got the worst rep |
But hey, their backstroke I'm tryna perfect |
And hey, ayo, we made it: Thanksgivin' |
So hey, maybe we can make it to Christmas |
She asked me what I wished for on my wishlist |
Have you ever asked your bitch for other bitches? |
Maybe we could still make it to the church steps |
But first, you gon' remember how to forget |
After all these long-ass verses |
I'm tired, you tired, Jesus wept |
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Coke on her black skin made it stripe like a zebra |
I call that jungle fever |
You will not control the threesome |
Just roll the weed up until I get me some |
We formed a new religion |
No sins as long as there's permission |
And deception is the only felony |
So never fuck nobody without telling me |
Sunglasses and Advil |
Last night was mad real |
Sun coming up, 5 a.m |
I wonder if they got cabs still |
Thinking 'bout the girl in all leopard |
Who was rubbing the wood like Kiki Shepard |
Two tattoos: one read "No Apologies" |
The other said "Love is Cursed by Monogamy" |
It's something that the pastor don't preach |
It's something that a teacher can't teach |
When we die, the money we can't keep |
But we probably spend it all cause the pain ain't cheap |
Preach |
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Now if I fuck this model |
And she just bleached her asshole |
And I get bleach on my T-shirt |
I'mma feel like an asshole |
I was high when I met her |
We was down in Tribeca |
She get under your skin if you let her |
She get under your skin if you-uh |
I don't even want to talk about it |
I don't even want to talk about it |
I don't even want to say nothing |
Everybody gon' say something |
I'd be worried if they said nothing |
Remind me where I know you from? |
She looking like she owe you some |
You know just what we want |
I want to wake up with you in my beautiful morning |
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My momma was raised in the era when |
Clean water was only served to the fairer skin |
Doin' clothes you would have thought I had help |
But they wasn't satisfied unless I picked the cotton myself |
You see it's broke nigga racism |
That's that "Don't touch anything in the store" |
And it's rich nigga racism |
That's that "Come in, please buy more" |
"What you want, a Bentley? Fur coat? A diamond chain? |
All you blacks want all the same things" |
Used to only be niggas, now everybody playin' |
Spendin' everything on Alexander Wang |
New Slaves |
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I throw these Maybach keys |
I wear my heart on the sleeve |
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