Rec-Room Therapy (Explicit)

Ight, now, this is how we gon' do this shit You know what I'm saying? Niggaz wasn't out in the streets back then When was doing this shit son, you know what I mean? Yeah, check the story I done flushed bags of powder down project toilets You could of found of me on the steps dusted, unable to call it Jums in my pocket, the rental was stolen, tapping pockets On the local drug dealers, just to see what they holding I know, niggaz with crack viles stuck to they colon The acid, done bubbled up, now they stomach's is swollen That just, life in the hood, surrounded class, who we bag in our stash The ultraviolet haze, we hit it and pass We toast to the Ghost of old days, yeah, old ager hump We rap renegades, must stay paid Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Big fluffed out gooses on, Stan Smiths The housing cops can suck our dicks, we jumping out Of convertible matchbox shit, next drip inhaling Chilling, my throat frozen, my orange brick Bottles of Cru, bitches with Baby Phats, they swinging ax They singing, you still blinging, daddy, now bring it back The smokest rap niggas, honey, I'mma need a match To bust the game wide open, I'mma need an axe I juggle this, practice, smuggle heroin in the cactus Keep a hood, I still go and fuck a fat bitch Actress, slinging the backs of five Cleopatra's A cocaine Chef, I stretch money like elastic Nigga, my raps is bigger, dynamics with the muscle advantage Jake Cutler on dust, when I blam shit Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Yo, we been bagging since eighteen, kid, polo rugs on with gloves on Rented cars, fronting on winning broads Gum slow, half moon, leather pants, Avia days Keep your hands off my blunt and my waves Benetton, Superman bomb, everybody in the lobby, we clapping Hats on, protecting your moms, you know how we play Spray something down if the team say It's on, I dedicate my lines to the PJ's Triple beams, Pyrex jars, smoking nickle weeds All we did is look mad fly, icicle rings Whatever homeboy, you want it, you could get your receipt A little closer, you can sense we got heat It's only me plus four other ill gangstas We all anxious to blow up your block and spank shit Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) I'm down for the get down, hit the town, sick the bloodhounds on 'em I rip clowns, I flip pounds, I spit rounds I'm on the prowl, my stomach growl, crushed by the crowd Rush through Loud Records, drop mushroom clouds I'm not a rapper, I'm spellbound, I melt down your G-Force With heat walks, free falling to a better money, bet he's hungry Spread the honey, big head inside the Humvee Mix lead inside my lungies, spend bread on my Dungarees And such and such, Ghost plugged me with this slut Please, don't hug me, bug me, I'm ugly when I fuck I'm hard like a jungle hunter, bust off in Heather Double cross me, lift your boss off your feet, 'course he's feather Whatever, whatever, he cried independence Tennis players get fried, playing both sides of the ends Keep your eyes on your friends, 'cuz they spy for the feds Watch me rise from the dead, I got ties with the dreads Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money) Get money (Get money) Get money, Ghost (Get money)