The Usual Suspects

[Intro: Smoke DZA] Kushed god, bitch Jonesie Sometimes you just need to be serenaded with the instrumental 183rd shit Riiiight [Verse 1: Smoke DZA] Cooking up a batch Ladies show they titties Real niggas tip they caps, real trappers For my hustler niggas with no choice Posting up, slanging that oh boy Stay on your grind, only way to turn a 300 to a Rolls Royce Life is good, nah, life is great, now I'm 'bout to get my niggas straight God bless a nigga with some legal ones so I can stay off the interstate Not everybody getting money, not everybody selling out shows Not everybody toured the world like four times, three albums in stores From Australia up to Montauk, I kill 'em with the Don talk And when it comes to this indie bread, I'm the hip-hop Thom Yorke I'm too real for the radio heads, I'm an underground king But these bitches can't stop my show and that's word to the Pimp Low eating lobster and shrimp, all the bad bitches want to link I'm like, fuck with a real nigga and stop feeling bad for that simp That's the other species, come sip some of this PJ And smoke some of this sweet tree and everything will be geetchi DZA [Verse 2: Fiend] I told your bitch like Alex Rawls Mister Jones, full riding laws Pop my calls in a ride with paws Got a lot of nines, got a lot of fours I'm a lane ward man, got a lot of goals Know how to get the kitchen like a lot of O Know when to burn out, before it's time to go I'm a highlight reel so rewind it, ho Pick them up, out the pound Lighting up every time the Saints get a first down Hold the flow so you can show us right now You can get a purse and some work right now This mack hand, ho, don't get the backhand She chase ghosts like Ms. Pacman He paid a ho to come back, fam God damn [Verse 3: Corner Boy P] They respect the Don Eighteen karats with the red rubies and Piguets is on Platinum Rolex, double-roll bezel, and walk around with Alexis on Courtside in my Concords With my niggas wiling out, smoking out tours Life's about choices, got to make yours The right set of keys open up the right doors We trying to turn a little something to a lot more You gotta go a little further than you won't go It's like a hundred out there, had enough blow I'm talking enough blow to make it below, zero I'm the underdog's hero To that dope boy, praying for a kilo To the little nigga praying for a way out Keep your head up, shorty, we gonna make it out Made it out now Hella stamps in my passport Overseas airport Coming through the hood up in foreign cars Bitch, letting the weed flow I'm hood rich, I can't change, ho Meeting, smelling like weed smoke Negotiate my record deal like a dope deal Probably why a nigga take like a ki of dope Nigga, you need a plug [Verse 4: Curren$y] Top soft, but I grind hard to afford To weld them switches to my dashboard Lowriders and all, exotics to NASCARs Amongst all these stars, seven grams in the raw That's a Grammy award in my granddaddy car With my granddaddy Kangol, higher than a halo Sliced like tomato with precision on them blades, ho It don't go down until he say so Extra cheese, hold the mayo Got stacks in San Diego, now I'm hiding out Large amounts to count, just fill them duffel bags and weigh 'em Spitta slayed 'em, no Santa She's thirsty, get a Fanta Bitch passing out, somebody fan her Drive In Theatre Fuck you thought this was