Chorus: C-Bo All I ever wanted was a pair of Nikes A Lexus, a mansion and eternal life Maybe what it was, I was askin for too much Prayin to God, thinkin 'did he give a f**?' Twelve years old, I was always told Every day I want it, that glitter ain't gold But f** that sh**, I want a twelve inch dick A Coupe, a chrome, and a money makin b**h Verse 1: C-Bo A 'Lac, front, back, man, I wish I had it In a brim, Rolex down wit a automatic I be the sh**, pimpin hoes from Cali to Louisville Strip em for money in Magic City and the A-T-L Cos see these b**hes ain't sh** but investments And they ain't worth sh** unless they makin profit I need a money-makin b**h to satisfy my needs Some p**y, dough, diamonds and G's So when I swoop in my coupe, out to get my loot Collect it from hookers more famous than Betty Boo It be that, legalised pimpin that's keepin me above the water f** a b**h, get rich and live the life of a baller Cos a broke b**h ain't nuttin but a downfall Unless she cement her money and her mind, y'all And wit straight-laced game is how ya take control I been practisin the sh** since twelve years old Chorus Verse 2: Lunasicc One foot in the grave and eleven inches insane Psychotic n***a named Lunasicc, squattin out them gold thangs Slappin these b**hes, y'all can't be laggin on the payroll Let's get your a** right back to the track before your face get steezo I'm cold like the winter, get up in your flesh like a splinter I dash with the cash then mash on the gas, prepare a hog for dinner Creepin when I'm sleepin, my b**h ya want coasted By the window, wit an AK ready for n***as wit their gunplay Cap peelers, drug dealers, I thought you knew That if you f** wit one of my n***as then you're f**in wit the crew We roll deep like sheep, always strapped wit some heat Original gangsta, f** a prankster, ride my nuts like a beat, huh I'm bout it, bout it, but n***as like you, I doubt it, doubt it I come thru, drinkin blue lookin bout it, bout it Ready for the gunplay, move the crowd like we the O-Jays Blastin like I'm crazy out the Colt wit my .3-80, Mafioso Chorus Verse 3: 151 Las Vegas, Lake Tahoe to Reno b**hes on the highest floors of the casinos bu*t naked, checkin money by the G stack As I pose at the crap tables, sippin on yak I'm just a baller, wit a grip of money-makin hoes Might catch em fo'-deep in a C-Ville on triple golds Wit cell phones and pagers as if it's on a grind So to keep em an X-rated p**y is a goldmine I'm on a major mission to increase my stacks to the highest climax I'm wrapped up in my safe and G-pacts Crackin like green weed sacks, for slangin, for danglin Youngstas wit their pants hangin, g**nin, .45 stangin Ain't no tamin, aimin, accurate, we hit em off and slid em off They get off in the Valley, immaculately, sippin rally's Winners are stackin chips up like alleys From Seattle to Cali, the North of Valley, n***a Chorus b**h!