Chorus: Fat Pat
Wanna be a -- baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades -- on the Impala
A caller gettin laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, got sprayed by Ike
I hit the HIIIGHWAY, making money the FLYYYY WAY
But there's got to be a BETT-ER WAYY!
A better way, better way, YEAH-AHHHH
[Yungstar]
I'ma -- baller, I'ma twenty inch crawler
Blades on Impala, diamond rottweiller
I-10 hauler, not a leader not follower
Break these boys off I'ma twenty inch crawler
Bust a left, a right, I'm outta sight I'm throwed
I'm bouncin off the road I'm in a modem with them foe dem
Tiny tune -- hop out my big body form
Chain with the chong, can't forget Moet along
I'm hot, find me lookin good, diamonds against my wood
Man it's understood -- got money in my hood
I'm pushing big body can't stop me
For the nine-eight got to sell a million copy
I'ma crawl slow puffin on the Optimo hit the sto'
I'ma go real slow -- puffin indo out the do'
I'ma lit the stash green, man I'm lookin clean
Want remote control screens with ice bezeltynes
Chorus
[Fat Pat]
Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends
Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz
Big ballin, smashin, makin my ends
Smokin big killa gettin high in the Benz
In the wind smoke goes as I crawl down on Vogues
Twenty Lorenzo, smoke all up in my nose
Yo' eyes, get froze, as you see my low
Candy-red, two-do', let my top down slow
Hittin, my remote, sittin, in my shit
Presidential V-12 with that AMG kit
It don't quit, as I get high
from K.C. to H-Town, connectin SouthSide
Now we worldwide, watch me highside
Fat Pat blowin killa, can't be denied
187 thugs, oh yeah we got love
Blowin sticky green we flow through and above
Chorus
[Lil' Will]
Sittin' Fat Down South, rollin Benz on blocks
Mo' scrilla I got, signin with Shortstop
And that's for real, so tell me how you feel
to make a million dollars out[Flav] Yeah back it up
[Chuck] Vultures of culture
A dollar a rhyme but we barely get a dime
Uh huh check it out
[Chuck D]
If you don't own the master then the master own you
Who you trust from Swindler's Lust? (GEYEAH!)
From the back of the bus neither one of us
control the fate of our soul in Swindler's Lust
Hickory dickory dock
Hand in my pocket rob me for my chocolate (eheheheh)
Mo' dollars, mo' cents, for the Big Six
Another million led to bled, claimin innocence
Is it any wonder why black folks goin under --
-- cause niggaz be sold in bundles
No pressure, tell me why they don't care
Rap and R&B pavin the streets of Bel-Air
From the sales of singers, no longer here
The bigger killer, get the bigger share (eheheheh)
Now the ones I attack, negroes got their back
No, eighty/twenty is a wack contract
Forever lack, the voice of real blacks
Stole rock'n'roll and ain't gave it back (yea yea)
Started off my defense, now they're the ones I defend against
who fell up into the tricks
"Fuck the _Fight the Power_ shit; get that Chuck D nigga fixed,
and keep him up out of the mix"
Well hell, tell em Chuck don't suck no dick
Be an ass, and that ass get kicked
Hand in my pocket, rob me for my chocolate
Watch em swindle yo' ass and turn a profit
If you don't own the master, then the master own you
Who you trust, from Swindler's Lust?
From the back of the bus, neither one of us
control the fate of our soul, in Swindler's Lust
They don't care about me, they don't care about you
They don't care about you and your crew
your family neighborhood and plus, heh,
they don't give a damn about us
[Flav] One thing about them, they like to exploit though
[Chuck] Vultures of culture
[Flav] They like to exploit little suckers
[Chuck] A dollar a rhyme -- while we barely get a dime