French Montana - 17,000 lyrics

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French Montana - 17,000 lyrics

[Intro : Pillsbury dope boy] I'm baaack So skinny, Frenchy (woah, woah, woah) I told 'em. Go ahead Them n***as sold 17,000 You know I had to get on yo a** I mean, God damn. I looked at my blackberry [French Montana] Them n***as sold 17,000 (Hellooo) That's a damn shame They don't want to see a new n***a do his thang Tryna blackball me? Playin' with a n***a food, that ain't what a real n***a do I mean, homie but real talk 40 Cal. turn your fro to a mohawk Bein' broke is not my thing You missy n***as can't stop my reign Tryna pop my chain (what?) Wow, that's a hundred thou, 40 go blaw You's a f**in' coward They never learn You had your shot, b**h n***a, its my turn See it all clear, D, c**a leaves, you can get it all here Got my back to the wind n***a, I ain't never goin' back to the pen (Rat tat-tat-x2) tappin' on the door, before I kick it in Like (where the cash at?) Hits all night, Benz all white Reach, that'd be the end of your life Him all right, but him not ill Him just talk, n***a I k** I know what you think Jewels all see-through like fish in a tank Homie, from weed, coke, pills, liquor Now rock with the new n***a, Montana! (oh!) [Outro : Pillsbury dope boy] I'm the Macaroni wit da Cheese, man That's what i told 'em I look at his Soundscan, I see 17-5 And it ain't Jeezy So I'm lookin', I call my n***a French You know, I told him You the Macaroni wit da Cheese Aye know ma n***a, you know we in the hood, we just found Nemo You know, shout out to Dub City Motthaven, you know, Tremont Shout out to ma n***as in Harlem Can't call no blocks out there But you on the menu, you food You the steak with the shrimp and the A1 sauce, pimp