[Intro]
The gang hired cooks to make the raw cocaine enterprise
Seven-hundred-sixty murders last year is a record for Detroit
Murdered cap—
My 1st Chemistry Set
Blocks
Chemist
Cook up
Yeah
[Verse 1]
Finish with this last hundred thou' through the money counter
Moving the bag and I'm runnin' out in record timing
Geneva band brightly with excessive diamonds
Off Eukanuba puppy chow and New England clam chowder
You mismatching designers, I'm V12 in Impala
And V12s and problems, ain't never had a license
As I multiply and divide, add and minus
I never paid attention in class except for math and science
Live in the lap of lux, smokin' on Cali's finest
These niggas so puss you'd have thought that they had vaginas
That's why we clap 'em up, ten packs, bloodclot 'em
I got ninety-nine problems and a brick ain't one
I got thirty-five shots, yeah, the clip that dumb
And my handgun, it look retarded as a chopper
We built this from the ground up, started from the bottom
It's ConCreatures, Game Time, money ain't a problem
[Chorus]
(Pocket full of stacks) I had to take into consideration
That when you getting money, ain't no limitation
To what niggas'll do to get they hands on this paper (Better tell 'em)
Have my critters come and lay down that demonstration (187s)
'Cause niggas hate it when you get they bitches naked (Bold)
And your chain made out of a bunch of tennis bracelets (Cold)
And your closet full of fresh, put one in the sky (You know it)
I'm talking nothing but the best that money can buy
[Interlude]
I got real expensive taste
And I live an extravagant lifestyle (Mafia)
[Verse 2]
My left pocket six Gs, the other one ten bands
And my watch on Swizz Beatz, I'm the one-man band man
Four in my right palm, two in my left hand
In the back of the club doing the band dance
All around the board, I was born in the USA
Guess you could say this an American Band Stand
Three-hundred eighties got my man jammed
Now it's meet me at the Little Caesars, my baby, I got them pan pans
Half-assed nickel slick with a bag full of tricks
While you tryna penny pinch, I'm tryna cram jam
Twenty-two grand in my True Religion-brand pants (Blocks)
Just sold a hundred grams, that's another ten bands
Put a one on it, that's an extra ten grams
I cook so much dope, I need two wristbands
And I ball so hard, I need a headband
It's ConCreatures 'til I'm dead or in the fed pen (227)
[Chorus]
(Pocket full of stacks) I had to take into consideration
That when you getting money, ain't no limitation
To what niggas'll do to get they hands on this paper (Better tell 'em)
Have my critters come and lay down that demonstration (187s)
'Cause niggas hate it when you get they bitches naked (Bold)
And your chain made out of a bunch of tennis bracelets (Cold)
And your closet full of fresh, put one in the sky (You know it)
I'm talking nothing but the best that money can buy
