[Fabolous]
Yea
There's a lot of money over here
Ha Ha
That's word to Brooklyn
I'm back I don't know what the fuck is wrong with these niggas

Maybe cause I'm eating And these bastards fiend for my grub
I carry pumps like I serve gasoline to these scrubs
Have you seen my Aston leaning on dubs
And they can't afford chrome so they putting Vaseline on they hubs
I'm looking for a girl with a ass like Trina to rub
Take home and let her watch the plasma screen in the tub
These niggas hate I'm moving so much cash and cream in the club
And don't pass my green on my bub
But I'm a fly niggag that don't do much to pull her and dick her
Everyday I'm popping a tab and pulling a sticker
Everyday I'm switching the tags and pulling up sicker
Every "K" I'm loading the mags with bullets to flicker
And I ain't hesitating homie I'm pulling it quicker
So you can act tough After a few pulls on some liquor
Got em pullin on niggas
And they won't be goin nowhere for a while
They might as well pull out a snicker Ye-Ye-Yea

[Chorus:]
Forgive me father for I have sinned
But look at all this money that I spend
And look at all this jewelry that I'm in
And look at all the places that I've been
And look at all the women in those brims
Look at the blue flames that I'm in
I look at all the bullshit that there's been
And if I had another chance I'd do it again

Anywhere the kid move you know the hammers'll be with me
Poking out the shirt like a Pamela Lee titty
I went on tour brought the samples of D wit me
Came back a month later bought a Lambo for three-fifty
Think I throw you grams if you read with me
Just because you see me on the camera with P. Diddy
Dammit we P-driddy? Now I got G with me
Along with the third leg that I be rammin in these bitties
I keep the revolver you hope my gun'll jam
But with the soap its gonna blam
The info put freckles on your face like Opie Cunningham
That's why I'm watched by the Feds and scoped by Uncle Sam
Dope and hunn-ed (hundred) grams rope and hunn-ed grams
At the same time our artist get to open Summer Jam
Hope you understand or use better sense
These niggas don't want no beef they want lawsuit settlements Nigga!

[Chorus]

I'm in a waggy with em passin by ya
With a baby girl who suck harder than Maggie on a pacifier
What I'm smokin'll have you aggie as your last supplier
When you can smell it through the bag you know that's some fire
Getting stressed by these hotties is regular
I got a magazine to press to your body like editors
Test me somebody I'm begging ya
I got the Gatling gun like Jesse The Body in Predator
I'm a hustler I don't sling no rocks to the fiends now
Got dudes who sit on corners like a boxer between rounds
Any other dude who dish rocks want beef
Cause I chop jobs bigger than Chris Rock front teef
I'm the nigga tearing the walls up in your miss in exchange for a small cup
Of the Cris
And while you at probation filling a small cup full of piss
I'm in a coupe with a roof that ball up like a fist (Catch up!)

[Chorus]

That's right I'll do it again nigga (yea)
I'm a motherfucking ghetto superstar nigga
Desert Storm Street Family we here (yea)
Young G's Salute (yea)
Get this fucking money man
It's a lot of fucking money over here (yea)
I don't know what the fuck you doing (yea)

Writer : JACKSON, JOHN DAVID/GAYE, L.
Copyright : Lyrics © EMI Music Publishing