Ballers Lyrics
Who else is really trying to f*ck with Hollywood Cole
I’m with Marley G’s bro
Flying Holly Grove chicks to my Hollywood shows
And I wanna tell you something that you probably should know
This that Slum Dog Millionaire Bollywood flow and uh
My real friends never hearing from me
Fake friends write the wrong answers on the mirror for me
That’s why I pick and choose, I don’t get shit confused
I got a small circle, I’m not with different crews
We walk the same path, but got on different shoes
Live in the same building, but we got different views
I got a couple cars, I never get to use
Don’t like my women single, I like my chicks in twos
And these days all the girls are down to roll
I hit the strip club, and all them bitches find a pole
Plus I be sipping, so this shit is moving kinda slow
Just tell my girl to tell her friend that it’s time to go
Now tell me how you love it
You know you at the top when only heaven is right above it
We on, it’s Young Money motherf*cker
If you ain’t running with it, run from it motherf*cker
Alright, now somebody show some money in this bitch
And I got my b’s with me like some honey in this bitch, you dig
I got my gun in my boo purse
And I don’t bust back, because I shoot first
Meet me on the fresh train, yes I’m in the building You just on the list of guest names
And all of my riders do not give a f*ck, X-Games
Guns turn you boys into pussies, sex change
And I smoke ’til I got chest pains
And you niggas know I rep my gang like Jesse James
Women are possessive, and they wanna possess Wayne
I been fly so long I fell asleep on the f*cking plane
Skinny pants and some Vans
Call me Triple A, get my advance in advance, amen
As the world spinning, dance in my hands
Life is a beach, I’m just playing in the sand
Uh, wake up and smell the pussy
You niggas can’t see me, but never overlook me
I’m on a paper trail and ain’t no telling where it took me
Yeah, and I ain’t a killer but don’t push me
Now tell me how you love it
You know you at the top when only heaven is right above it
We on, it’s Young Money motherf*cker
If you ain’t running with it, run from it motherf*cker
Alright, now somebody show some money in this bitch
And I got my b’s with me like some honey in this bitch, you dig
I got my gun in my boo purse
And I don’t bust back, because I shoot first
How do you say what’s never said?
Beautiful black woman, I bet that bitch look better red
Limping off tour, cause I made more on my second leg
Muthaf*ckin’ Birdman Jr., 11th Grade
Ball on automatic start
I can hand it to Drake or do a quarterback draw
Wildcat offense, check the paw prints
We in the building, you niggas in apartments
Uh, now come on be my blood donor
Flow so nice you ain’t gotta put a rug on her
Do it big and let the small fall under that
Damn where you stumbled at? From where they make Gumbo at
Kane got the f*cking beat jumping like a jumping jack
And you know me, I get on this bitch and have a heart attack
Hip-Hop, I’m the heart of that
Nigga, nothing short of that
President Carter, Young Money DemocratNow tell me how you love it
You know you at the top when only heaven is right above it
We on, it’s Young Money motherf*cker
If you ain’t running with it, run from it motherf*cker
Alright, now somebody show some money in this bitch
And I got my b’s with me like some honey in this bitch, you dig
I got my gun in my boo purse
And I don’t bust back, because I shoot first
