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"Bread On The Menu" lyrics by PAUL WALL
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"Bread On The Menu"
[feat. Killa Kyleon]

Got the bread bread, bread on the menu
All about my bread give a fuck if I offend you
Got the bread bread, got the bread on the menu
Money cars clothes that's the type of shit she into
Got the bread bread, got bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, got bread on the menu
Got the bread bread, got bread on the menu
Get your own bread I don't gotta crumb to lend you

You already know I walk up in the corner store smelling like some dro'
Polo on my body got them Jordans on my toe (retro)
I'm covered up in ice my chest is twelve below (below)
Rolex on my wrist and I wear it like a pro (fo sho)
I'm at the Rockets game somewhere sittin' on the floor
I'm right behind the bench, I don't even know the score
I'm leaning of a foe (4) and I'm bout to pour some more.
I'm bout to head to dreams holla'd at the homie though
I'm ridin with G luck and b done they my bros
My mind on the paper so my pocket full of dough
Till they put me in the grave I'm a get it til I go.


I got the dopest clothes that mean I keep protection
So much bread on me my pockets got a yeast infection
I got that Wonder Bread, Mrs. Baird's, Nature's Own,
And I ain't sharin shit bitch go make your own
Damn that's a lot of dough yeah that Ciabatta ho.
I'm offering drinks with so much ones liek guess a dollar store.
You got that funny money you boys comedians. my money talk so God damn bad
It's disobedient. The root of all evil, bread the sweetest sin. Send me to hell, hand me my plate bitch I'm gonna eat again.
Wallet full of grands, I ain't cooking biscuits.
Got all my grub found out the size of my bank account terrific.


My mind on my paper, my hand on my heater.
A trill talk speaker and I speak it through ya speakers
Swisher full of reefer and a bottle full of sleepers.
I'll talk ya out ya money, I could've been a preacher
The truth can't get deep but lies run deeper
So my pistol on my waste by my belt like a beeper.
Posted on a block somethin' like a parking meter.
My frontin money old, like them Walmart greeters.
I got a lot yards you come by the meter.
I got a lot of drink and I pour by the liter.
I gotta lot of hustles and some of them illegal.
I'm a grind all day 'til I meet the Grim Reaper.


[Thanks to a for correcting these lyrics]

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