Luyện nghe bài hát $999,999 + $1 = A Mealticket

Huh? Want me to the real?
Speak the man
Nigga, the real
the real
Speak the
Speak the
Speak the

It's a quarter after on my AM, FM
Radio Shack, digital motel, six o clock reads
"40, get your ass up, to hit the grind
You afford to pass no money, I know you heard about that"

What, what? "Task Millersville, Ms. Miller had a heart attack"
Dude, that's some cold shit, ain't it
I know, she was a good for certain I know

V-Town, California, where I was born, raised and
And 1979, I been a hustler on the go
You know the drill, my for real, a mealticket
You feel, we slowly but approachin' seven digits

Figurines, sticky doo hicky and Dust
Mescaline, know better than fuck with us
I'm pimped out flossin' in in the casino
Big bid, off feddie, I could've put down on a crib

I that, I do, rejuvenate, redeem
Take a lose, a lose don't make a scene
Nigga charge it to the beam, fuck the stress
I let that orange box of soda do the rest

Holler at my neighborhood chef,
Known for cloning chickens and turning one two
That's he do for a living, that's all he's used to
Playtex dish washing gloves and residue, biotch

Bullshit ain't
You see we gone this thuggin'
And mean muggin', jump it's a done deal
You see E-40 and Wid, it bring the real, nothin' but
What if I bring this back
one, which one cap'n?
You got to be it or be without it
Be about it or without it, ay, you know
I smell you on playboy, look
We fin to run down a whole tac on bitch ass, niggaz
ain't smellin' this shit, we do this shit

Last night I slapped a bitch her dome with my faulty phone
Heifer's tired she tried to slash my tire
Caught me in the bed with her Tanji
the track she use to hold my sack
I use to her down

Way back in eighty-six she use to look like a sketch
But now that bitch got a ass, tits, and boy, that bitch is bad
For it's worth, the pussy smelled like Certs
Victoria's

Now folks, just remember, I never said I thought about lickin'
I said I never thought eatin' it
it and treatin' it nice
that, I'm a hog

I put it down, I'm from the
I live on the outskirts of town on the tuck in the cut
In empty apartments, man
I'm a baller so you know I got shit in my name

I'm strictly celebrity, niggaz get buried
for combat if you plottin' and plannin'
Oh if you for me and confiscate my dough
Let the buzzer be the
But my is to stay within your envelope

I'm to block, swingin' on vines
Community service, put up stop

Uhh, the fuck on
Did you or did you not tell these niggaz to stay within envelope?
Shit, these is green to the game
They ain't know nothin' about tramps
Six flats and gettin' dealt
And held a hand the mat
You see we from the Yay, where we control minds
And put these on the grind

got to but I still touch it
Went to 7-Eleven, picked up a traders
And bought a
Use to have a perm taller than the Hornets
But I had to cut that bitch off see your partna had warrant

That I ain't even handled yet, I'm havin' cake
The little from the hood, want me to put out his tape
He kinda tight too, remind me of The crew
'Cause was spittin' that old high powered
Godzilla ballin' guru, ass shit you can relate to

to, 'scape to when it's sunny
Ride by, by, get at a honey
I know streets like I know my dick
I can you who the nigga is that's about to get jacked
And the nigga pulled the lick

I got this on lock
999,999 plus a dollar in a safe box
Marijuana crops in this roster
Kilogram, leaf and morphine
What about my in the 415?
Look they made

My niggaz in the
They call it
Top regeneration, uncut
Designer weed, hempilation, what the fuck?

Sheit, sheit, sheit sheit, sheit, sheit
999,999 plus a dollar, a dollar man
Plus a dollar, a dollar, man, equals a mealticket bitch
Biotch, sheit, sheit, it