متن آهنگ Skyscrapers (feat. Method Man & Smitty) - Instrumen

متن آهنگ Skyscrapers (feat. Method Man & Smitty) - Instrumental از Dr. Dre

Money, money, money Duffle bag on the floor (yes), blowin' fast, let it go (yes) Raise a glass for the coast (coast), we the last of the GOATs Niggas funny when they broke (what?), say they love me when they don't (no) With the C's and the B's, I get money with 'em both (what up, though?) Floor seats, fuck the bleachers, back to breathin' that ether (ooh) Ridin' 'round with a feature (ah), nigga, this the Mona Lisa Fuck bein' lyrical, I'm a walkin' miracle Vultures in my cereal, music is my vehicle, negro spiritual Slidin' down Imperial, nigga, this a different texture (ooh) Homie, I ain't with the extras, full clip for the hecklers (what, what?) In the hood, I'm a pharaoh, blue rag my apparel (yeah) Party at the hotel (yeah), never hear a ho tell (shh) I'm the shit if I do say, gin and juice over D'USSÉ (ooh) Strippers jumpin' outta Snoop cake (ooh), lil' nigga, how the truth taste? In the meanwhile, I'm diggin' through these weed piles Mama, look at me now (look at me) Martha on speed dial (ay) Verified in the streets, rap sheet, got a lotta fans Energy, Long Beach, see through 'em like a hologram Chasin' a bill, back in the field, got my conceal, call it Lucille Keepin' it trill on Cypress Hill, you gotta be real (whoop, whoop) This shit here built to last, had to break the hourglass Slow money come fast, it's just a doggy bag Now go 'head and get mad, never been a kiss-ass Them woke me out my slumber, 'bout to do numbers on your bitch ass To all my young Black entrepreneurs, stack paper Skyscrapers, get you some motherfuckin' haters And my young rap entrepreneurs, reach your goals Fuck them hos, through the concrete grew a rose Ain't tell you that the world was yours? Stack your paper Skyscrapers, fuck all you motherfuckin' haters All my young rich entrepreneurs, keep your vision Fuck your system, turn that cap into capitalism John Wilkes in the booth, I'm a hunnid rope when I shoot So tailor-made in my suit, I'm the Michael J of my group This Johnny Blaze and that's Snoop, and that's Dr. Dre in the coupe He get the queue, I don't Bishop, ain't no O.J. in this juice Another day, 'nother pick up, but I ain't playin' no hoops With this inner circle, I figured I'd try and stay in the loops Stick to the script, this a stick up, but I'ma stick to the truth Black thought with a Black fist up, like I'ma stick to my roots I'm hot, boss, don't slip, in New York, I'm drippin' with hot sauce And I'm feelin' real Gucci, that means I'm drippin' on knock-offs Party just like a rockstar and I'm sippin' a Rockstar Your woman think I'm crack and I know I'm gettin' my rocks off Most these rappers is fiends, I mean, they know where the rocks are It's like they hit the rock and hit rock-bottom to rock hard But me and Boss Dogg keep a Roscoe like Boss Hogg My cause? Just because, because you lost, you a lost cause Go 'head and get bad, I'ma go 'head and get cash And I don't get sleep, I get big bags, you big mad ♪