(feat. Slim Thug)
[Chorus:]
b**h, you ain't gotta call my phone
Matta fact all you hoes can leave me alone
I just want my money
And now one of you nappy-headed hoes goin get none from me
n***a, you ain't gotta call my phone
Matta fact all you n***as can leave me alone
I just want my money
And now one of my fake a** homeboys won't get none from me
[Z-RO:]
I don't need know help my n***a
I can do bad on my own
And I don't need no company lil momma
Even tho I know you give graded on
I rather play my Xbox 360 while smoking and sipping drank
Ain't even goin waste no gas, going to get some a**, I'm a keep my gas in my tank
Keep my money in my pocket I never leave it with hoes
Put a ring on my own finger cause I sleep with Z-RO
Homie I'ont giva f** about what you drive or how much money ya got
And I don't giva damn if y'all really like me or not
I see ya lips moving but I can't hear nothing, cause I'm not listening
Hoe you only talking to me because my teeth are glistening
Y'all n***as be riding dicks so much y'all need a dil*o
That way when you think about Z-RO, you can shove it up on yo a** real slow
I'm a gangsta but I'm a man first, then I tallerate, no disrespect
My momma if it's money for me to make weed goin slip the s**
[Chorus]
[Slim Thug:]
Slim Thugga, Mothaf**a
I'm tryna stay rich, f** a b**h (f** a b**h)
I rather hit the studio and make another hit (another hit)
Stop calling on my phone mayn I'm on some other sh**
Just leave a n***a 'lone, I ain't goin s** cause ya f**ing with
Cause b**h you ain't about to get no dime or no quality time
I rather be on my grind, smoking weed, writing rhymes
All you rapping a** n***as calling me to get signed
Want me to rap for free, you done lost yo mind (you done lost yo mind)
I'ont care how long I knew ya give a f** if we can
Went to high school together giva f** if we friends
Ya ain't talking bout sh** if you ain't talking bout N's
Bring ya ten G's, I see what'cha talking bout then
All you roaching a** n***as and hoes in my face
Can't get it crunk for me, no so don't waste
Yo mothaf**in crime tryna plot on mine
I got my cash in my stash locked down, so now...
[Chorus]
[Z-RO:]
It's a shame having a cell phone, but don't want it to ring
Cause I don't wanna deal with bull sh** people and the bull sh** they might bring
That's why I send them the voice mail heaven (I don't wanna talk)
Cause bull sh** run a marathon, I rather keep it real and walk
I don't giva damn how pretty you look, you can still kiss my a**
Especially if I die to choose between you and my cash
I'm a choose money everytime, anyway I always get a new whip
Besides, I'm what b**hes be tryna find, I'm young, black and I'm rich
If you thinking I'm goin pay money to hit that a**
I gotta trick fo yo ugly a**
I'll just miss you right after I hit you and then go f** yo friends
Then you'll be ready to committing suicide and then I'll never speak to you again
My n***a Gredy, my n***a Rickby, my n***a Michael Coleon
There them only three n***as phone number programed in my phone
They call me the king of the ghetto, because I rule this b**h
I'm bout business I don't participate in foolishness, b**h
[Chorus]