Curren$y - Rubenstein Bros lyrics

[Verse 1: Nesby Phips] And man I can't sleep grab raw and I burn As the wheel on a 68 Cadillac turn The fuzz pay me close on how I dose and I earn They plant inside a ticket a n***a just trying to kick it Asking me where I headed to get all up in all my busisness There's a plague of n***a's feeling played up in my city That's why I hop a plane on a regular Besides man I got a few shows on the schedule Stackins on the gas and I feel that there ain't no letting up how Stay in position for the licks that I've been setting up Cause ain't nothing like your own money You can't take those sharks to get the long money She's hoping this conversation gonna lead to relations Mama got the lead but if it ain't leading to the paper I'm about to stack the sabre and your looking for a saviour You want it all gravy but can't even cook the gravy Why apologize, you wanna qualify, keep it moving I'm Autobahn round, keep cruising Fresh street hustling a n***a finna do a little something Man that's what you saying, brunch with the Rubenstein brother's Damn a n***a was hungry I spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie sh**, I spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie Huh, I spit a mill over a meal with my lil homie [Verse 2: Curren$y] You know I flip-flop serve hoes, with a fat sack that'll hurt your nose Smell it in my clothes, flowers are grown like a rose Broken down, and in my paper it was rolled Story of a jet written in stone tablets I'm a ownership manual, you just a test drive pamphlet n***a please, ease up off of that ho She can't breathe You're threaten text messages, she scared to leave I'm hard top 63. Double S. You at the traffic light stressed, mad pressed Hope your girl ain't looking at me, what a mess Life too short got the master bu*ton in the whip,that say sport Of course a GT3 on a close course Bad b**hes with they clothes off sweeping out my loft The journal of a boss I make big money, a big a** garage, everybody know me I'm betting with the stars 200 large, my left my right arm Strong, breaking s**ers off, some [Verse 3: Hollygrove Mikey] You never met the kind, but you say you heir to the throne