Six million ways to die(Took a lot to get this Rollie nigga)Six million ways to get rich(Huh, hah)Everybody keep telling me "make a club record"You ain't trapping no more, stop making drug recordsYou got a daughter 'bout to come, stop making thug recordsI brought that money back fast, I had the plug flexingWelcome to Harlem, el Barrio, that's the drug sectionHit your bitch with my jeans on, ain't making love nakedI got love for my loco but I know 'cuz recklessI ain't gotta sleep in the projects, I did enough stressingMy father was a rolling stone but taught me one lessonDo your dirt by yourself, your friends be the ones tellingI knew it broke my mother's heart to know her son sellingI had coke in my dresser, trifling as everI had a dream Biggie featured me on Life AfterI be with my same niggas, I don't really like rappersNiggas can't make a song for nothing but they nice actorsGo and get a movie role, low bagging up tuna rolls, raw shitI come from a block where you seen it but never saw shitI be at the juice bar, my wheat grass and bark shitMy younging just came from up north, he want to park shitTryna teach him something bout life and how we startedLower class poverty, homies from jail calling mePlaying the number everyday but never hit the lotteryLiquor store on every corner, might as well get drunkI remember that free lunch wasn't shooting, we would jump stonesNiggas like the end of the blunt, traps load upI told papi I got him by the end of the monthI was thinking bout 550's with the cinnamon gutsThese shots'll blow your mind away, now your memory dustAnd memory of, I got a JF Kennedy buzzPresidential called enterprise, I need another rentalTryna take a package down to North CarolinaMaybe buy some Ferragamo, I'm so focused on the commasIf you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel meOnly Allah get my flow, it's gon' be hard to kill meThey say practice make perfect, we at it every dayThinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paidIt was written I'm gifted, homie come learn somethingConversations 'bout paper homie, let's burn somethingIt was written I'm gifted, homie come learn somethingConversations bout 'paper homie, let's burn somethingIt's hard to stop what's already in motionI ain't gotta hit your blunt, I've already been smokingG Star denims on my Shmurda shitIn '08 my mental was really on some murder shit'Cause nothing was working outJust to pass the time started working outMe and my nigga Jay Black from way backHe a Bronx nigga, met him in QueensButch crib, met up with fiendsImagine Nas signed you, hell of a dreamSomebody pinch mePromise nothing they say ever getting to meUsed to watch House Party, not kidding play listen to meThis that talk that make the hustlers want to open shopThis that stash house talk, don't let 'em know the spotThis that talk that got my city wanting to rap againThis that all black everything like an AfricanThis that middle of the summer in a trench coatGlock 19 reminding them of how you been brokeIf you never been broke it's gon' be hard to feel meOnly Allah get my flow, it's gon' be hard to kill meThey say practice make perfect, we at it every dayThinking about that consignment, sometimes I never paidIt was written I'm gifted, homie come learn somethingConversations bout paper homie, let's burn somethingIt was written I'm gifted, homie come learn somethingConversations bout paper homie, let's burn somethingI talked my way right up out the projects niggaPut your mind to it, anything is possible hahaFrom a hole in the wallYeahNow we in the presidential suite manTop floorFlower for your bust niggaHarlem, yeah
