(feat. smoke dza)
patty cake, patty cake, i’m baked my man.
kick it in yo streets like bad chris in them garbage cans, aww man.
them b*tches think i’m ballin’ so they behavin’ differently when i be in new orleans.
i’m fallin’ back off ’em they crawlin’ on ’em, not half-way complainin’ just makin’ a true statement.
which quite basically is what’s missin’ from this game we in, create the world in which u tryna live in kid.
some of my friends is p*ssed away, some of my homies doin’ bizz (business).
but best believe i’ll bring ’em with me anywhere i is.
what a hater say will never affect the way that i live or where i go just makes me f*ck they b*tches in they crib.
the game i got was raw and given’ to in by slim referring to himself in the third when he on them herbs.
make sure i don’t punk out in the streets but don’t get too close to the curb.
jet life too high for the birds.
right, big doobies rolled up you know how we do.
snow beach low like ray warren ’92.
rugby’s all flavors; lime green rod labors to all the world gettin’ paid off the talent god gave us.
i’m parlayin’, marley’s got me smack, twistin’ like a rastafari marcus garvey on the track and i’m faded.
n*gg*s hated, now they all tryna get in.
all the slick talk, i know ya’ll ain’t really mean it.
sleepin’ on the kid, i hope the bed was posturepedic.
beggin’ for a verse i’m like c*ck-sucker beat it.
what ya budget like?
go head and find a way, you tryna get in the loop i make ’em pay to ride the wave.
jet life, it sucks to be you.
tryna get swagg, you gotta purchase this foool.