[Chorus: Kobe]
Now how you gon' tell me you don't love me no more? (How you gon' tell me that?)
'Cause I'm out here gettin' this bread (You hatin' on this paper chase?)
Tryna get my momma a crib (Shit don't even sound right)
Tryna get up out the ghetto
Now how the hood talkin' 'bout they don't need me no more
(What you want me, stuck in the ghetto? Listen, I'ma get out)
'Cause a motherfucker push that GT
(Then you what, I'ma come back for the niggas need to be reached for)
It's a problem tryna take that from me
(You niggas is slippin')
'Cause I'm packin' heavy metal, uh huh
[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
I hear the streets talking funny (shit)
So I laugh (haha), tell 'em keep talkin' funny (keep talkin' funny)
I'm a keep talkin' money (yup)
And all different types (what)
The yens and the pounds (pounds)
Nigga, just for spite, push the Bentley 'round town (sparrows)
Trippin' in ice, I still be up town (Harlem)
I hear 'em kickin' up dirt on my name (so what?)
But I could clean 'em up like detergent on a stain
Or I'll beam 'em up, we got birdies on the chain (easy)
Respect my mind or respect my grind (cause what)
Gone to the bank when it's check signing time (okay)
It's Teterboro when it's jet flying time (clear-port)
And we so thorough, we the set fly or die (Dip Set)
The bitches funny, I'm talkin' 'bout life (yup)
It was Sunday to Sunday on New York's chilly nights (that's right)
And we was hungry nauseas for a bite
But if the world's apple pie of course you want a slice (yup)
Now how you gon' tell me you don't love me no more? (How you gon' tell me that?)
'Cause I'm out here gettin' this bread (You hatin' on this paper chase?)
Tryna get my momma a crib (Shit don't even sound right)
Tryna get up out the ghetto
Now how the hood talkin' 'bout they don't need me no more
(What you want me, stuck in the ghetto? Listen, I'ma get out)
'Cause a motherfucker push that GT
(Then you what, I'ma come back for the niggas need to be reached for)
It's a problem tryna take that from me
(You niggas is slippin')
'Cause I'm packin' heavy metal, uh huh
[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
I hear the streets talking funny (shit)
So I laugh (haha), tell 'em keep talkin' funny (keep talkin' funny)
I'm a keep talkin' money (yup)
And all different types (what)
The yens and the pounds (pounds)
Nigga, just for spite, push the Bentley 'round town (sparrows)
Trippin' in ice, I still be up town (Harlem)
I hear 'em kickin' up dirt on my name (so what?)
But I could clean 'em up like detergent on a stain
Or I'll beam 'em up, we got birdies on the chain (easy)
Respect my mind or respect my grind (cause what)
Gone to the bank when it's check signing time (okay)
It's Teterboro when it's jet flying time (clear-port)
And we so thorough, we the set fly or die (Dip Set)
The bitches funny, I'm talkin' 'bout life (yup)
It was Sunday to Sunday on New York's chilly nights (that's right)
And we was hungry nauseas for a bite
But if the world's apple pie of course you want a slice (yup)
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