[M-Child] [Chorus x2]
I want a lot of money, hoes, and fast cars,
Kamikaze medallion because I'm a star.
Light-green in a perfectly rolled Philly cigar.
(Light-green in a perfectly rolled Philly cigar.)
Damn, who would think that I'd make it this far?
Young nigga, nineteen, fulfilling my dream,
Player-haters assed out if they fuck with my team.
Watching show, left and right, M-Child be what they scream,
Fucking on hoes that I've never in my life seen.
Vets and Navigators, park 'em in the driveway,
Platinum and gold plaques, post 'em in the hallway.
Two-story mansion up on the hill is where I stay,
We barbequeing and getting to chewing everyday.
I tell 'em for yes indeed, got clips that make you bleed,
We'll plant your ass into the earth like a tree.
Niggas who ready and scrapping harder than Mr. T.
From the O.M.P, M-C-H-I-L, D.
I'm all about making scrilla', flippin' that green dough,
I'm playing it for no hoe, player-hate, you gotta go.
Nigga looking dummy from that Hennessey in my tummy.
Fucking on soft scalps, telling me my dick is yummy.
On the other hand, I've got plans, I'm living straight,
Keep shit to myself, fuck trying to tell Ricki Lake.
Kamikaze be the realest nigga, never be fake.
Bring it how we bring it, nigga, like we'll blow you away.
With hot slugs, you dealing with niggas who full of drugs,
Never go to sleep, roam around like waterbugs.
Better guard your chest, or your chest full of blood,
I tell it like it is, Orange Mound be full of thugs.
You dealing with coffins, with niggas that take shit,
With niggas with no love, yelling, "I ain't no bitch."
You better stay in your hood, you ain't familiar with this.
I'm dropping motherfuckers like I'm dropping hit after hit, bitch.
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