| I don’t care what people say |
| I’m gonna get 'em for a paper chase |
| I don’t care what people say |
| I’m gonna get 'em for a paper chase |
| (EMP) |
| Know I got that feeling that the pimp gone make a killin' |
| Droppin' them bodies off by the dozen I wouldn’t mind, makin' a zillion |
| Cuz there ain’t no love, like that love that’s on the down low |
| Always watch your back, for some of them niggas they call your kinfolk |
| I’d rather be broke, then one of them niggas that’s on the board |
| Every option that I got, got me livin' by the ??? |
| Over here, givin' a toast, to some of the niggas that did they dirt |
| Nothin' wrong with recognizin' the real, fightin' and puttin' in work |
| I got some things I need to do, in the pursuit, in my one lifetime |
| And ain’t no more two-stompin' me, only grant for makin' my grind |
| And I’ma get in, where I fit in my nigga, we both can roll, for the ride |
| Sleepin' your head |
| And nigga you fall to your knees when it’s time to compromise |
| I’m at the point of no return, only concerned with the fact |
| Know that I feel with this hustlin' two thousand trick |
| Tryin' to hold you back |
| On the bow, leanin' with one foot ahead and the bow, is bound to break |
| No more shots, no more pop |
| Because he’s dead and it’s time for the paper chase |
| (Mac Cris) |
| Now smoke a blunt wit’cha boy, commit Cream got that green |
| Now shoot them toys wit’cha boy, cuz you know we on the scene |
| And put them things in your face, cuz I’m ready to catch this case |
| You fuckin' around with me and Cream gone do this shit today |
| Now get it crunk wit’cha boy, don’t front on your boy |
| And if you thuggin' up in the gates, let me see you get it up |
| Now hold it down with your nigga, when you smokin' up in the truck |
| Cuz you claim that you smoke pound, but you might get your shit smoked up |
| K to the I to the N to the G |
| G to the A to the T to the E |
| Smokin' and chokin' on swisher sweets |
| Keepin' you crunk and in on your feet |
| In this game ain’t nothin' but G’s |
| Fuck that shit you tryin' to plead |
| One in your head and then you dead and you gone fall to your knees |
| HEY!!! |
| (Cream) |
| Now smoke a blunt wit’cha boy, smoke some fire green with me |
| Go and get some plastic toys I think somebody tryin' to get me |
| I can’t FRONT on ya boy, cuz every night I’m gettin' that green |
| Everybody be smokin' a pound, with the Cream on the scene |
| Don’t make me get crunk on ya boy, cuz real niggas they move in silence |
| I’ve been known for shootin' them toys in case them suckas wanna get violent |
| Now what’cha want from your boy? Cream olde English and some of this weed |
| Turnin' all of my enemies into manipulatin' fiends |
| But if you want it, you can get it |
| If you smoke it, two can hit it |
| I ain’t perpetratin' with it |
| I’m gone hit it until it’s finished |
| And just like Popeye eat his spinach, I’ma stay crunk off this all day |
| I don’t care what the people say, WEED make my paper straight |
| So HOLD IT DOWN wit’cha boy, don’t hesitate to get 'em up |
| Go head and smoke up what you smoked up cuz today we gettin' fucked up |
| We smoke a pound up in my chevy, rollin' round we makin' credits |
| I ain’t messed up bout no change |
| We havin' thangs and I’ma remain the same |
| On top of the game, you niggas just can’t get crunk up like my crew do |
| Nigga we smoke weed like Wahoo, I get fucked up cuz I want to |
| Now who knew? That Cream’ll be makin' the money with niggas that get paid? |
| Sippin' on Dom and I parle' HEY!!! |
| Cream about that paper chase!!! |