Jim Jones - Get Like Me lyrics

[Hook] Blue Yankee fitted, get like me AZGs on the feet, get like me Off the lot new V, get like me I'm tryin' to tell these n***as, get like me Bag shawty no game, get like me All eyes on the chain, get like me So fresh, so clean, get like me I'ma tryina tell you man, get like me [Verse 1: Jim Jones] Talkin' 'bout cash, don't lease Pockets like it's fat, obese Watch all flooded, rocking no piece This is vampire life, we don't sleep Just hash, no keef I smoke big blunts, need the whole leaf (Khalifa, what up) I buy big cars, need the whole street 5 cars, n***as 4 deep One hot car with goons all in cold heat I'm a Porsche 2 n***a, a whole freak You might think she had no teeth You can hear her scream Papi, going so deep Porsche Panamera with the 4 seats We at the Staples Center on the floor seats As I tap my n***a Ron Ron Sit back laughing, high off the chron chron [Verse 2: Metta World] What up Jones, you know it's Dipset I'm reppin' hard, where my Dipset chain, kid I be in Harlem like the Bartendaz Doing pull ups on the bar, all the broads gettin' Catch me in the city with the Mets fitted Certified vest and the whips kidded Hat low, jeans loose fittin' Lil' saggy, lil' baggy, New York ain't trippin' NY DNA, blowing orange blood, Knicks all day What, yeah, that's how we do it Red bricks, steel fences, still loosin' They call me Styles P, never change, won't do it Matter fact, can't do it I guess I'm stuck in my ways Like I'm stuck on the A train [Hook] [Verse 3: Deacon] New York City 'til the d**h of me I'm from the bridge where we cookin' up the recipe So tough, knock 'em out, get 'em buried, G Then blow a dub, yeah the kush, that's the recipe With Challace and Jones, we blow it by the P Me and World Peace, lockin' up the damn streets Real n***a, get 'em gone with the liquor scene Now they slippin' point blank, get the picture G [Verse 4: Foul Monday] Cut the mike, acapella on them n***as Squad up, I got a real team full of k**ers I ride for my n***as While these n***as steady snitchin' I'mma die for my n***as, get like me Blue Yankee fitted, real Queensbridge Got nothing but the realest, I'm a real Queens kid I'm Air Forced out, I'm real, no dealt I'm runnin with the team, AMG and we out [Verse 5: Challace] 8's on the low low, 20s I believe 40 on a neckpiece, 30 on the sleeve Drinkin' little reckless, burn a couple trees Spittin' Hennesy out the sunroof of limousines This is Monday baby and I'm not a star I'm as loud as my sour when it's out the jar I seduce these b**hes without an ounce of fraud So they leave with they mind right and they body sore I'm waking up to smell of money blowing Pay no mind of what them other s**ers doin' n***as stuck up in they sad lives Sad faces, Alisha, the sad cry n***as, tell me what your life like Mines' is celebration every night And I sit back and laugh at you n***as that's looking' tight So my advice is end your f**ing miserable life Or get like me [Hook]