Sad Millionaire

Can I do my thang?? *(Yukmouth)* Speak on it *(Brownstone)* Oh, oh, ohhh Oh, oh, ohh, hey Verse 1 *(Yukmouth)* Uh Niggas be havin the mutha fuckin blues Like 5-0-5's I won't lie Homicide Gram will cry Pray for me that I won't die Suicide I won't try Bullets fly Drive-by Don't let it slide, do or die You an I, slide by Catch them niggas off my side Wit nothin to hide body die rot On they porch When I expectin some sort of drive-by Type retaliation Under styles I lace, MOBBulation Lets begin breakin down the situation When, the end of our frustration So while we racin down the block, wit a thirty-eight, an Glock The cops is waitin to umm Accelerate on yo vehicle Run down yo vehicle Even if they have to gun down yo vehicle Nigga, up in these high-speedaz Police they be the Rosco Bico train Swervin in an outta lanes Runnin from O-H-A What they throw away Eh, though, eh, way Pistol Every mutha fucka wanna peep Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)* Millionaire! Dreams of big millions play Ever seen a sad millionaire? I thought that money make us happy Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)* What if I was a millionaire Huh A major playa on the block That a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn't stop Hella strap happy Cuz niggas slangin all my rocks Point yo gats at me I don't know where uzis to yo knot Fo fuckin wit the big shot I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the ground Be down That's one of my shit, an get shot Only the baddest bitches jock Get chosen Global shouts For bitches out there who be voguin On the collar of poppa Brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa Where niggas strapped fo real, like Chubacca Who got the gonga Cuz I be high like phone doctor Spark on vodka Eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot ya Like Vinny Blanca Come back in the end juss to haunt ya Plus I twist a Benz like Big Poppa What's the big proper use Go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be a Millionaire playa Chorus x2 Verse 3 *(Yukmouth)* Uh You niggas juss created a monsta Fuck a type, I smoke gonga In the Bahammas Fuckin yo baby mama Doggystyle (whoo,wee!) Two wow, you wow Doubt man Who wow "Bout it, Bout it" Niggas be claimin they be the Ice Cream Man But I doubt it, doubt it Be rowdy Hit the paper chasin clout it Sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot Smokin blunts, an crunchin weed, sex Fresh outta drug rehabs Spend two g's at every function I be at Believe that, BITCH!! Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot Grab bitches by the throat-a-lot That's what ya told the cops I hold the Glock Aim it an fire Retire another nigga Nameless Game is fo hire Desire chariots fire Light as I'm a tuck her We're so called "potnaz", fuck 'em An dust em off wit a choppa, I can't rush 'em Gotta bust 'em Too skinny I can't trust 'em An when the mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to love 'em An that's fo real Nigga Chorus x5 *(Yukmouth talking during chorus)* Have all this fuckin money, an still ain't happy. Nigga, still got Problems wit stress, mutha fuckaz juss think you got it made, they try To rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you. Fuck Money, I wish I didn't have it, cuz when I didn't have it it was all Good, niggas loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the store Now ya got money everybody wanna kill me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna Do you, skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks Millionaire