S On My Chest

“That be that Cash Money piece, go restin’ the dead”
(Alright, alright)

I walk around like I got a “S” on my chest
I walk, I walk around like I got a “S” on my chest
I walk, I walk around like I got a “S” on my chest
That be that Cash Money piece, go restin’ the dead
Yeah… uhh
If stunna say the nigga dead then the nigga dead (2x)
If youngin’ say the nigga dead, then the nigga dead (2x)

Reporting from Kim’s corner store
Hollygrove, 17th carnivore
Ridin’ through the city in a Tonka toy
I got old money, coulda bought a dinosaur, huh
Only ride Chevy, never drive a Ford
And my Coupe doors open like plaza doors, yup!
Red thick women (uhh) eyes adore
I’m a whore, you know that I’m a whore, yup!
Cash Money, Cash Money, monster boys
Mafia bitch! Even the cop’s avoid
And you say you want beef, then I got ya boy
I’ll just let the Big Mac, Whoppa-boy
See my dreads hangin’ lookin’ like-a rasta boy
F*** with my roster and I turn into Mufasa boy…
We run up in ya casa boy
And blast off like NASA boy!

Yeah, Cash Money is an army nigga better know it’s gravy
If you ever fuck with young’n, and if you ever fuck with Baby
Shit gon’ be crazy, nigga doin it like the 80’s
Buncha young nigga poppin’ off and they sprayin’
Up in the early, we thank ya for the sunshine
Got to get my bling on, reach for my chrome 9
Kiss momma cause we goin’ out and gettin’ mines
Next nigga in line, 17 on the grind
Shoot first, nigga not seeing mines
Big purses, million dollar headlines
Five drops, O.G. the last Big Tyme
Lord to the game nigga ‘til it’s my time
“Like Father Like Son” nigga this time
Junior got the fame and the game mastermind
Two hundred on the dash, watch me mash
Doin’ doughnuts in my hood gettin’ paper bags

Ribbon is red, that how we pledge
An Uptown C.M.B. blood ‘til I’m dead
That’s what I said, I’ll put some change in your head
If you ever cross a line nigga it’s nothin’ but bread
Fifty shots I’m hot, nigga we won’t stop
From puttin’ candy on the slab nigga stirrin’ them pots
Put the hammer on the jam nigga pull it and pops
And put the rubber on the bands nigga stackin’ his knots

Bitch I’m the boss, bih.. bitch I’m the boss
And bury me like my father on the cross
And carry thy teen, I shall over a cross
Shorty got that game on lock, like a vault
Weezy Baby, cayenne pepper, no salt
Windows down on the hog in the winter, it’s yo’ fault
Hehehe, I don’t jump on the track, I pole vault
I got that “S” on my chest, man I’m supposed to ball

[Hook]