French Montana - Casino Life (Intro) lyrics

[Intro: Sam "Ace" Rothstein, DJ Holiday] In the casino The cardinal rule is to keep them playing and to keep them coming back The longer they play, the more they lose, and in the end, we get it all (DJ Holiday) Yeah, you know? I was thinking the other day The mixtape game is sort of like boxing You got the young n***as out here swinging Haymakers and what not All wild and sh**, ain't connecting Dropped a mixtape for a little status, but ain't getting no fanbase Then, you got the old n***as — Just won't hang it up But you see I just pop up in the title fight Pay-per-view and sh**, stuntin' on these n***as I come through, knock a n***a out Count my money, Put my belt on my hip & we out You know what this is DJ Holiday, French Montana. Casino Life Round 1, We Working! [Verse 1: French Montana] Last year was the worse couldn't get worse Only way is up now n***a weight is up (x3) Couple locked, couple dead, couple ran away To the the top, for the bread, we like to plan a way sh** wicked in these mean streets None of my friends speak We all tryna win But then again play the bad hand homie is how the ball bounce But sh**, couldve been guilty on all counts We gonna make it, gonna make it is what you tell yourself Only thing promised when you die your gonna sh** on yourself Bang it like bebox, ride 5 levi 01' never trust no one n***as never there, never there, never there when you need help n***as rather put holes in you like a cheap belt Fame ain't free, wine blowin fast Cuz im the only one eatin off me It go one for the homies, 2 for the down b**h Three for the lawyer, and 4 for the oil I wake up, time to bake up, time to raise the bar You heard montana, mama raised a star Soke in my body, gettin ready for the critcs Ima leave it up to god, staying sane, its a job Its the Intro, suicide central Since young b**h put somethin on the petro Made man, slave camp, j**elry box Listen ahk, 8 stack Loui top Money my sorta theme, I'm done bringin the game back the buzz on the carterveen Go on tell rude boy, shoot ya out tha stankin crotch for takin shots I knew oxtail like jamaican pots Say you couldn't do it on ya own look at I I had to see to it like crooked-I ha Get it, I did it, hit it, sh**ted, her stomach polluted, knit it ha ha Its my intro b**h this my intro Mr. 16, Mizay Where we at holiday?