Tone Capone - Sad Millionaire lyrics

Can I do my thang?? *(Yukmouth)* Speak on it *(Brownstone)* Oh, oh, ohhh Oh, oh, ohh, hey Verse 1 *(Yukmouth)* Uh n***as be havin the mutha f**in blues Like 5-0-5's I won't lie Homicide Gram will cry Pray for me that I won't die Suicide I won't try Bullets fly Drive-by Don't let it slide, do or die You an I, slide by Catch them n***as off my side Wit nothin to hide body die rot On they porch When I expectin some sort of drive-by Type retaliation Under styles I lace, MOBBulation Lets begin breakin down the situation When, the end of our frustration So while we racin down the block, wit a thirty-eight, an Glock The cops is waitin to umm Accelerate on yo vehicle Run down yo vehicle Even if they have to gun down yo vehicle n***a, up in these high-speedaz Police they be the Rosco Bico train Swervin in an outta lanes Runnin from O-H-A With a throw-away A throw-away Pistol Every mutha f**a wanna peep Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)* Millionaire! Dreams of big millions play Ever seen a sad millionaire? I thought that money make us happy Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)* What if I was a millionaire Huh A major playa on the block That a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn't stop Hella strap happy Cuz n***as slangin all my rocks Point yo gats at me I don't know where uzis to yo knot Fo f**in wit the big shot I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the ground Be down That's one of my sh**, an get shot Only the baddest b**hes jock Get chosen Global shouts For b**hes out there who be voguin On the collar of poppa Brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa Where n***as strapped fo real, like Chubacca Who got the gonga Cuz I be high like phone doctor Spark on vodka Eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot ya Like Vinny Blanca Come back in the end juss to haunt ya Plus I twist a Benz like Big Poppa What's the big proper use Go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be a Millionaire playa Chorus x2 Verse 3 *(Yukmouth)* Uh You n***as juss created a monsta f** a type, I smoke gonga In the Bahammas f**in yo baby mama Doggystyle (whoo,wee!) Two wow, you wow Doubt man Who wow "Bout it, Bout it" n***as be claimin they be the Ice Cream Man But I doubt it, doubt it Be rowdy Hit the paper chasin clout it Sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot Smokin blunts, an crunchin weed, s** Fresh outta drug rehabs Spend two g's at every function I be at Believe that, b*tch!! Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot Grab b**hes by the throat-a-lot That's what ya told the cops I hold the Glock Aim it an fire Retire another n***a Nameless Game is fo hire Desire chariots fire Light as I'm a tuck her We're so called "potnaz", f** 'em An dust em off wit a choppa, I can't rush 'em Gotta bust 'em Too skinny I can't trust 'em An when the mutha f**az got meal tickets you might have to love 'em An that's fo real n***a Chorus x5 *(Yukmouth talking during chorus)* Have all this f**in money, an still ain't happy. n***a, still got Problems wit stress, mutha f**az juss think you got it made, they try To rob you an sh**, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you. f** Money, I wish I didn't have it, cuz when I didn't have it it was all Good, n***as loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an sh** at the store Now ya got money everybody wanna k** me, n***a, ya own relatives wanna Do you, skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks Millionaire