Lyrics
I gotta l gotta, I gotta I gotta, I got
I gotta chip on my shoulder that Bill Gates ain't make
Gotta connect up in Harlem
Gotta great weight rate
Gotta hotta enchilada
Gotta hot tre eight
Heavy rocks in my rings that a quake can't shake
Or she can freak
You a freak let's fuck
Keep a freak for a week
Fuck a stunt for a month
Gotta brand hot damn and a great rapper flow
Gotta actual factual international after glow
Tools for ya fools trying to fix some ish
Got talent more gifted than a christmas list
Got dibs on many things, so I ride east west
Gotta list who's best so I stress why guess
Gotta lotta hot material real on the set
Got ass in first class bust some head on the jet
Got an album, we wildin', so we ride don't rest
Got kids, a gang of niggas I call a tribe called Treach
I got henney, I got sizzurp
I got dinner, I got dessert
(I got goons in the hood with cases)
(Cone head hoodies and they rocks grew faces)
I got this side, I got that side
I gotta a big bag baby full of bitch better act right
(I got wolves on deck all about they hood)
(Bangin' out and they ain't neva been about they hood)
I gotta way of findin' niggas, so these assholes hide
Gotta brigade sun to shade so my brass shows pride
Got Jimmy more for demmy that'll smash your bride
Half-truths will lodge your ass or lose a whole half side
Gotta shit on these fools, so I crap for a hobby
Make you O'neil (kneel) for real stack my shack (Shaq) with the shotties
Got vultures freaks for me, they can slobby the knobby
You ain't fuckin' get the truck and meet and greet in the lobby
Got classics, whole lotta doe from the past yo
A hot gun on the run, need your basement to crash hoe
Recession, still rappin' but I'm jackin' for cash flow
Wanna waste time then go outside and watch some grass grow
Got spears for your fears, but I ain't Britney