Dead Presidents Master P
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Dead Presidents" by Master P. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
Hahahahaha
That nigga Master P back in the house for the 9-5 shot
Well take a step into this madness that we call the dope game
Richmond, California where us youngstas slang that cocaine
And we be hoppin it up and choppin it up and rockin it up
To tens, twenties, fifties, and hundreds to make our profits bro
Roll through the town talking shit, get your wig split
Especially when fucking with another niggas divendends
I mean them George Washington, them Lincoln, Hamilton, Jefferson
Grant, Ben Franklins
Find your ass in the trunk with your motherfuck corpse stankin, haha
The ghetto's trying to kill me
And if you live to see 95 most of ya'll fools can feel me
Come take a ride in my 6-4
I'm not Dr. Dre but Richmond, California's death row
You got niggas packin heat
And fiends on every corner trying to make them ends meet
And the game get thicker
When you think its all good
Down bows another nigga
To the grave 6 feet deep
I've never seen a man cry but I'm not Scarface G
But I've seen alot of niggas die
Richmond, California the town of the homicide
Got me caught up in a shuffle
Sellin crack to my people, just an everyday hustle
I'm too deep to quit
Cause the game giva a young nigga like me profits
That nigga Master P back in the house for the 9-5 shot
Well take a step into this madness that we call the dope game
Richmond, California where us youngstas slang that cocaine
And we be hoppin it up and choppin it up and rockin it up
To tens, twenties, fifties, and hundreds to make our profits bro
Roll through the town talking shit, get your wig split
Especially when fucking with another niggas divendends
I mean them George Washington, them Lincoln, Hamilton, Jefferson
Grant, Ben Franklins
Find your ass in the trunk with your motherfuck corpse stankin, haha
The ghetto's trying to kill me
And if you live to see 95 most of ya'll fools can feel me
Come take a ride in my 6-4
I'm not Dr. Dre but Richmond, California's death row
You got niggas packin heat
And fiends on every corner trying to make them ends meet
And the game get thicker
When you think its all good
Down bows another nigga
To the grave 6 feet deep
I've never seen a man cry but I'm not Scarface G
But I've seen alot of niggas die
Richmond, California the town of the homicide
Got me caught up in a shuffle
Sellin crack to my people, just an everyday hustle
I'm too deep to quit
Cause the game giva a young nigga like me profits
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