Soulja Boy - 2 Milli | Текст песни

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• Soulja Boy
• 2 Milli

[Soulja Boy]
I did what I wanted, n-ggas did what they could
a lion wouldn’t cheat but a Tiger would
I only keep real n-ggas in my stable
a million dollar chain, I’m feeling like Gucci’s label
so icey I really don’t care
haters green as a pool table and they twice as square
had to cut a couple b-tches, them n-ggas need stitches
I’m getting money out the tree y’all n-ggas getting switches
similar to Nas, I need a mic though
chop the bread up, Tae Kwon Do
they pass me the game like Tom Brady
these rappers chances looking slim just like shady
[Verse 2]
n-ggas locked behind my bars Im taking out prisoners
sit back relax recieving my residual
think this song is dope sh–t wait til you see the visual
please brace yourself this sh-t about to get critical
let it be known I got rappers on my hit list
I got so many gifts you would swear I stole Christmas
word to the Grinch b-tch my style will switch quick
i knew this all along I was waiting just to hit the kill switch
since day one man your boy been the truth
broke so many records like I’m in the glass booth
like I’m in the glass studio breaking out barriers
back when crime mob was screaming Ellenwood Area
n-gga I aint scared of ya, never ever will be
I’m screaming I’m the best till these rappers kill me
make the people feel me like the blind men do
on your girl head so much like her favourite shampoo
lyrics courtesy of killerhiphop.com
I’m travelling where I want, soulja’s vacation
my mind is so free, emanicapation proclamation
Im so hot, haters evaporating
6 b-tches on my d-ck I’m elimidating
Im high every friday just like smokey
Im spitting real sh-t, these n-ggas spitting Karaoke
hit stick with the flow just like Madden
Im so high on my carpet feeling like Alladin
I spit hot flames b-tch just like a dragon
and my pants saggin
spell it backwards n-ggas
n-ggas get heated when they see the coupe on
i dont give a f-ck got my Pyrex suit on
I’ma keep rapping til the fans hear the best of me
Im cooking up the game b-tch yeah I got the recipe
you aint gotta like me just please respect it
hip hop is dead n-gga let me resurrect it
microphone check it, uno, dos, tres,
I’ma keep spitting til they crown me the best
the rap games a mess, let me clean it up
its a pigsty they going ham give it up
[Verse 3]
flying down the highway a million on the dashboard
you cant start my car up unless you got the password
I’m something like a prophecy spit so properly
when my album drops watch how many rappers copy me
haters opinions are obsolete
don’t make pop music so it ain’t no pop in me
and my brains a b-tch where she at when I need her
ya pack nines, I pack nine kilometers
ya did’nt want beef why would ya start it
cameras flashing like you walking down the red carpet
first you was nameless now imma make you famous
hit you with the stainless and leave your ass brainless
best rapper…
[End]


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