$ad Millionaire (Feat. Brownstone) - Luniz, Brownstone

Oh, oh, ohhh

Oh, oh, ohh, hey

Verse 1 *(Yukmouth)*

Uh

Niggas be havin the mutha fuckin blues

Like 5−0-5's

I won’t lie

Homicide

Gram will cry

Pray for me that I won’t die

Suicide

I won’t try

Bullets fly

Drive-by

Don’t let it slide, do or die

You an I, slide by

Catch them niggas off my side

Wit nothin to hide body die rot

On they porch

When I expectin some sort of drive-by

Type retaliation

Under styles I lace, MOBBulation

Lets begin breakin down the situation

When, the end of our frustration

So while we racin down the block, wit a thirty-eight, an Glock

The cops is waitin to umm

Accelerate on yo vehicle

Run down yo vehicle

Even if they have to gun down yo vehicle

Nigga, up in these high-speedaz

Police they be the Rosco P. Coltrane

Swervin in an outta lanes

Runnin from O-H-A

With a throw-away

A throw-away

Pistol

Every mutha fucka wanna peep

Chorus x2 *(Brownstone & Yukmouth)*

Millionaire!

Dreams of big millions play

Ever seen a sad millionaire?

I thought that money make us happy

Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)*

What if I was a millionaire

Huh

A major playa on the block

That a mac daddy, drivin a black Caddy couldn’t stop

Hella strap happy

Cuz niggas slangin all my rocks

Point yo gats at me

I don’t know where uzis to yo knot

Fo fuckin wit the big shot

I was juss flat droppin g bannos on the ground

Be down

That’s one of my shit, an get shot

Only the baddest bitches jock

Get chosen

Global shouts

For bitches out there who be voguin

On the collar of poppa

Brand new hundred dolla billz, an a choppa

Where niggas strapped fo real, like Chubacca

Who got the gonga

Cuz I be high like phone doctor

Spark on vodka

Eatin lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra

Smoke-A-Lot be the MOBBsta, who shot ya

Like Vinny Blanca

Come back in the end juss to haunt ya

Plus I twist a Benz like Big Poppa

What’s the big proper use

Go get yo bread an do what ya gots to be a

Millionaire playa

Verse 3 *(Yukmouth)*

Uh

You niggas juss created a monsta

Fuck a type, I smoke gonga

In the Bahammas

Fuckin yo baby mama

Doggystyle (whoo, wee!)

Two wow, you wow

Doubt man

Who wow «Bout it, Bout it»

Niggas be claimin they be the Ice Cream Man

But I doubt it, doubt it

Be rowdy

Hit the paper chasin clout it

Sky up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like a ballot

Smokin blunts, an crunchin weed, sex

Fresh outta drug rehabs

Spend two g’s at every function I be at

Believe that, BITCH!

Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot

Grab bitches by the throat-a-lot

That’s what ya told the cops

I hold the Glock

Aim it an fire

Retire another nigga

Nameless

Game is fo hire

Desire chariots fire

Light as I’m a tuck her

We’re so called «potnaz», fuck 'em

An dust em off wit a choppa, I can’t rush 'em

Gotta bust 'em

Too skinny I can’t trust 'em

An when the mutha fuckaz got meal tickets you might have to love 'em

An that’s fo real

Nigga

Have all this fuckin money, an still ain’t happy.

Nigga, still got

Problems wit stress, mutha fuckaz juss think you got it made, they try

To rob you an shit, yo own potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you.

Fuck

Money, I wish I didn’t have it, cuz when I didn’t have it it was all

Good, niggas loved me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the store

Now ya got money everybody wanna kill me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna

Do you, skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a million bucks

Millionaire