They Point

[Hook: Mr. Bangladesh] (x2) Every time I stop, hoes like look at him Every car I drive, niggas want one of them They pointin', they pointin They like dammmmmn They pointin', they pointin They like dammmmmn [Verse 1: E-40] Like Ricky Ross, everyday I'm hustlin' Gettin' off weight (like who?) Jennifer Hudson Pack a hammer, Thor Shooter, score Slide through batches think I'm hecka rich Breakin' necks, turnin' heads like the exorcist Thumbs up like the like button Eatin' good, no rib touchin' Runnin' with a bundle, never fumble Countin' so much bread I got Carpal tunnel Stock paint (from where?) Maaco Beige, like a potato They hate me on the outside, love me in the inside Suck me in the back seat while I let a friend drive Half a pound two stacks, half a unit 10-5 I stay out here by Sully so you know a hustler been fly [Hook] [Verse 2: Juicy J] My pockets some'n serious, mansion on a hilly Main that nigga got more cheese than a philly Shoelace tied but a nigga still trippin' I'm Lionel Richie high, I'm dancin' on the ceiling Never marry a hoes, I just marry checks That's how you stay on top, missionary sex Rubba Band Business, know you heard of that I got the town talkin, know you scurred of that None less than ten figures, you know what I'm worth Record sales, show money, not including merch' Club full of bitches, pocket full of Franks Blunt full of weed, cup full of drank Me going raw dog, ain't no way in hell Before I risk my life it be a cold day in hell But bitch take it off, here we go show and tell And I'm fuckin' that pussy like I'm fresh out of jail [Hook] [Verse 3: 2 Chainz] Parallel park while I'm ghost riding Black diamonds man I'm racial profiling I'm so fly man I need a co-pilot So I might let your damn ho drive it Lil' hair pullin' man I like rough sex Dropped out, I ain't never passed a drug test You know my lingo baby let's mingle So I got a thousand dollars worth of singles I got racks in the cargo of my camo Still, still won't give her Nathaniel Life a gamble so I had to make a bet These ain't Air Max but I can make a check They took me out the streets but it's still in me I been sellin' werk since we had Bill Clinton I'm the voice of the streets so they still listen On the back of the milk carton, ceiling missing [Hook]