Sad Millionaire lyrics

Artist  : Luniz 
Song : Sad Millionaire



 Send "Sad Millionaire" Ringtone to your Cell 

 

featuring Brownstone

Can I do my
thang??

*(Yukmouth)*

Speak on
it.

*(Brownstone)*

Oh, oh,
ohhh.
Oh, oh, ohh, hey.

Verse 1
*(Yukmouth)*

Uh.
Niggaz be havin the
mutha fuckin blues,
like 5-0-5's
I won't
lie,
homicide,
gram will cry,
pray for
me that I won't die,
suicide,
I won't
try,
bullets fly,
drive-by,
don't let it
slide, do or die,
you an I, slide by,
catch
them niggaz off my side,
wit nothin to hide
body die rot,
on they porch,
when I
expectin some sort of drive-by,
type
retaliation,
under styles I lace,
MOBBulation,
lets begin breakin down the
situation,
when, the end of our
frustration,
so while we racin down the block,
wit a thirty-eight, an glock,
the cops is
waitin to umm,
accelerate on yo
vehicle,
run down yo vehicle,
even if they
have to gun down yo vehicle,
nigga, up in
these high-speedaz,
police they be the Rosco
Bico train,
swervin in an outta
lanes,
runnin from O-H-A,
what they throw
away,
eh, though, eh, way,
pistol,
every
mutha fucka wanna peep.

Chorus x2
*(Brownstone &
Yukmouth)*

Millionaire!
Dreams of big
millions play.
Ever seen a sad
millionaire?
I thought that money make us
happy.

Verse 2 *(Yukmouth)*

What if
I was a millionaire,
huh,
a major playa on
the block,
that a mac daddy, drivin a black
Caddy couldn't stop,
hella strap happy,
cuz
niggaz slangin all my rocks,
point yo gats at
me,
I don't know where uzis to yo knot,
fo
fuckin wit the big shot,
I was juss flat
droppin g bannos on the ground,
be
down,
that's one of my shit, an get
shot,
only the baddest bitches jock,
get
chosen,
global shouts,
for bitches out
there who be voguin,
on the collar of
poppa,
brand new hundred dolla billz, an a
choppa,
where niggaz strapped fo real, like
Chubacca,
who got the gonga,
cuz I be high
like phone doctor,
spark on vodka,
eatin
lobster, bumpin Frank Sinatra,
Smoke-A-Lot be
the MOBBsta, who shot ya,
like Vinny
Blanca,
come back in the end juss to haunt
ya,
plus I twist a Benz like Big
Poppa,
what's the big proper use,
go get yo
bread an do what ya gots to be a,
millionaire
playa.

Chorus x2

Verse 3
*(Yukmouth)*

Uh.
You niggaz juss
created a monsta,
fuck a type, I smoke
gonga,
in the Bahammas,
fuckin yo baby
mama,
doggystyle (whoo,wee!)
two wow, you
wow,
doubt man,
who wow "Bout it, Bout
it",
niggaz be claimin they be the Ice Cream
Man,
but I doubt it, doubt it,
be
rowdy,
hit the paper chasin clout it,
sky
up out the ugly four day la-la-by yo Cuttie like
a ballot,
smokin blunts, an crunchin weed,
sex,
fresh outta drug rehabs,
spend two g's
at every function I be at,
believe that,
BITCH!!
Ya mind is Smoke-A-Lot,
grab
bitches by the throat-a-lot,
that's what ya
told the cops,
I hold the glock,
aim it an
fire,
retire another
nigga,
nameless,
game is fo hire,
desire
chariots fire,
light as I'm a tuck
her,
we're so called "potnaz", fuck 'em,
an
dust em off wit a choppa, I can't rush
'em,
gotta bust 'em,
too skinny I can't
trust 'em,
an when the mutha fuckaz got meal
tickets you might have to love 'em,
an that's
fo real.
Nigga.

Chorus
x5

*(Yukmouth talking during
chorus)*

Have all this fuckin money, an
still ain't happy. Nigga, still got
problems
wit stress, mutha fuckaz juss think you got it
made, they try
to rob you an shit, yo own
potnaz in the hood juss wanna love you.
Fuck
money, I wish I didn't have it, cuz when
I didn't have it it was all
good, niggaz loved
me when I was juss drinkin brew an shit at the
store.
Now ya got money everybody wanna kill
me, nigga, ya own relatives wanna
do you,
skanless boy, this is Nine Skrillion, make a
million bucks.
Millionaire.