International Playboy Money Making Jam Boys

[Verse 1: Dice Raw]
I catch them off guard, then tell them en-garde
Mr. Vanguard, new version of hip-hop's God
Messiah -- no higher, no flyer
Gold miner, like one of them dusty ass old timers
A hill climber with a stake in Mt. Everest
Cause I'm forever fresh, yeah, I'm forever death
And ya'll forever slept, on death's doorstep
But last night I'll tell you where your whore slept
In a house, with me, inside of an old portrait
With an old lady that be sitting on the porch with
A shotgun, and pitcher of lemonade
A picture of Christ, but I can't drink my sins away
Cause I could make a dollar a hundred different ways
Close a client, or I can throw on a gorilla's face
But I'm a doctor that talks with a scalpel
Scrapple, across your motherfuckers adams apple
It's like my heart's been replaced with an engine
And my driveway repaved with religion
And each stone is worth it's weight in gold
We breaking down the barriers and all the sound codes
But I'm staying true to the 'G' code
Jam Boys put aside all the egos
That's why we putting up freethrows
And blowing weed smoke on a speed boat
Shit, I drive around in a stupid coupe
And all the girls they be saying I'm stupid cute
Niggas mad, because I got stupid loot
But if you feel lucky go ahead, stupid, shoot
But you really stupid if you think I'd stoop
Down to your level, third step from the stoop
I'm like a hundred floors up from the roof
Looking down about to let that motherfucker loose