She asked why I don't make time I'm steady crossing state lines
It's money
Real risk taker. Real get paper music right here baby
Baby I'm trying to make this motherf*cker check stretch
You understand me
The game I spit immaculate she think I got a cape on
I might take this bitch to Neiman's if she asked me how my day going
Shit I do numbers on that road swear it won't take long
10 steps ahead, close the backdoor and cut the grass for all the snakes showing
She a sexy lil petite bitch the ones you see at freaknik
Know how to toot it up and pop that pussy on the cement
I'm the Miami on the yacht too much champagne I done got sea sick
Please somebody get the weed lit before I have a seizure
All I know is trapalot I used to drop a four of wok
Now it's knot after knot still countin up old dough I got
Yeah I'm the man with the ones but I watch my cousin control that pot
This is the life of a hustler you gotta give it all you got
And we cram it til no space it Run through the tolls like f*ck the weight limit this out of state business
Baby I be with real risk takers
Get fly, get paper
You switch sides you been hating
Lately I been ducked off
I ain't been having much to say
I feel like Allah tryna tell me something
I just beat another case
She a freaky Sexyy Red but she stay in section eight
Ain't got no kids and get the bread, and she might get a second date
I'm a cozy boy I be in New Balance
F*ck some Louis sneaks
Smoke out the P until I'm sleep I'm shooting buckets like I'm in the league
I'm thankful all that broke shit is just a memory
An now I'm sitting back kicking shit, the ref just called a penalty
Feeling presidential in the same shit that Obama whip
Still popping bottle after bottle of Clicquot
Ineed a sponsorship
Six hour drive I'm doing numbers in a Honda Civic
I served em lows and called em ones cause he can't find a difference
She asked why I don't make time I'm steady crossing state lines
Cash Jones - State Lines Lyrics
Cash Jones - State Lines Lyrics
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English
She asked why I don't make time I'm steady crossing state lines
It's money
Real risk taker. Real get paper music right here baby
Baby I'm trying to make this motherf*cker check stretch
You understand me
The game I spit immaculate she think I got a cape on
I might take this bitch to Neiman's if she asked me how my day going
Shit I do numbers on that road swear it won't take long
10 steps ahead, close the backdoor and cut the grass for all the snakes showing
She a sexy lil petite bitch the ones you see at freaknik
Know how to toot it up and pop that pussy on the cement
I'm the Miami on the yacht too much champagne I done got sea sick
Please somebody get the weed lit before I have a seizure
All I know is trapalot I used to drop a four of wok
Now it's knot after knot still countin up old dough I got
Yeah I'm the man with the ones but I watch my cousin control that pot
This is the life of a hustler you gotta give it all you got
And we cram it til no space it Run through the tolls like f*ck the weight limit this out of state business
Baby I be with real risk takers
Get fly, get paper
You switch sides you been hating
Lately I been ducked off
I ain't been having much to say
I feel like Allah tryna tell me something
I just beat another case
She a freaky Sexyy Red but she stay in section eight
Ain't got no kids and get the bread, and she might get a second date
I'm a cozy boy I be in New Balance
F*ck some Louis sneaks
Smoke out the P until I'm sleep I'm shooting buckets like I'm in the league
I'm thankful all that broke shit is just a memory
An now I'm sitting back kicking shit, the ref just called a penalty
Feeling presidential in the same shit that Obama whip
Still popping bottle after bottle of Clicquot
Ineed a sponsorship
Six hour drive I'm doing numbers in a Honda Civic
I served em lows and called em ones cause he can't find a difference
She asked why I don't make time I'm steady crossing state lines
It's money
Real risk taker. Real get paper music right here baby
Baby I'm trying to make this motherf*cker check stretch
You understand me
The game I spit immaculate she think I got a cape on
I might take this bitch to Neiman's if she asked me how my day going
Shit I do numbers on that road swear it won't take long
10 steps ahead, close the backdoor and cut the grass for all the snakes showing
She a sexy lil petite bitch the ones you see at freaknik
Know how to toot it up and pop that pussy on the cement
I'm the Miami on the yacht too much champagne I done got sea sick
Please somebody get the weed lit before I have a seizure
All I know is trapalot I used to drop a four of wok
Now it's knot after knot still countin up old dough I got
Yeah I'm the man with the ones but I watch my cousin control that pot
This is the life of a hustler you gotta give it all you got
And we cram it til no space it Run through the tolls like f*ck the weight limit this out of state business
Baby I be with real risk takers
Get fly, get paper
You switch sides you been hating
Lately I been ducked off
I ain't been having much to say
I feel like Allah tryna tell me something
I just beat another case
She a freaky Sexyy Red but she stay in section eight
Ain't got no kids and get the bread, and she might get a second date
I'm a cozy boy I be in New Balance
F*ck some Louis sneaks
Smoke out the P until I'm sleep I'm shooting buckets like I'm in the league
I'm thankful all that broke shit is just a memory
An now I'm sitting back kicking shit, the ref just called a penalty
Feeling presidential in the same shit that Obama whip
Still popping bottle after bottle of Clicquot
Ineed a sponsorship
Six hour drive I'm doing numbers in a Honda Civic
I served em lows and called em ones cause he can't find a difference
She asked why I don't make time I'm steady crossing state lines
Writer: Cassius Jones
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid