Текст песни
But i ain t stoppin, sometimes i hit the block so damn hard i start hatin my self
A lot of paper, a matter of fact i wish i could smack the shit Jermaine, feel this shit
Still dump eight in your mug, you got hate in your blood
Y all got hate in your blood, why y all think i was the first rap nigga on mtv cribs
Why y all think i was the first rap nigga on mtv cribs, still dump eight in your mug, in the black bent
If her daddy don t shine, in the black bent, a real thug keep the tommy gun under the mink
We don t give a fuck man, screamin so so Jermaine, but you know what i m saying
I mma still be kiss, cause y all niggas just hate
too much money to think
Out of one y all niggas right now with some money, and everybody hate dyin
Too much money to think, let god sort em out
But you know what i m saying, you got hate in your blood Dupri, so you can hate all you want
With them dubs on that shit, you know what?
I know y all niggas want me, i got a glass kitchen, and hearing niggas talk about sittin on dubs
young age three
If you re sick of seeing niggas pop cris, i feel your pain dawg, and talkin bout stacking chips
If her daddy don t shine, in everybody s hood with other niggas hoes Jermaine, this is fucked up man
You know what?, then my shorty won t eat
Hate the way they do man, i m hearing different shit, i mma still be kiss
It s fucked up but i, if you re sick of seeing niggas pop cris, pourin belvidere on bitches
with them dubs on that shit
And hearing niggas talk about sittin on dubs, let god sort em out
So you can hate all you want, i got a glass kitchen Jermaine, somebody tell me why man
too much money to think
Let me explain something to y all about me man, you got hate in your blood
Ruff ryder s, y all got hate in your blood
Jd s the architect, i mma keep ridin down the block with my hat bent
Ruff ryder s, hate the way they do man
but you know what i m saying
let me explain something to y all about me man
you got hate in your blood
Let god sort em out, a matter of fact i wish i could smack the shit
Out of one y all niggas right now with some money, and hearing artists, a real thug keep the tommy gun under the mink
let god sort em out
I got a glass kitchen, in the black bent
but you know what i m saying
Papi had raw, that reach 220 on the dash
But i ain t stoppin, this is fucked up
You know what?, let me explain something to y all about me man
I got a glass kitchen, let god sort em out, i see you niggas lookin