Bill Jackson was a poor old dub, Who joined the Darktown Poker Club But cursed the day he told them he would join. His money used to go like it had wings
the purple Maybach means dat I'm getting' more dough Smell the Christian Dior, I used to be poor When you cross Florida lines, boy, I'm your leor Boobi Boys steal, Boobi Boy
straight boy I'm tryin' -Chorus- (Juvenile) I'm tryin' to shake the monkey off of me Lord please let me go where I needs to be Ball 'till I fall it's a poor
He fills the flower vases, trims the candle bases Takes small change from the poor box, Tyler has the key He takes nail and hammer to tack up the banner
weren't your mama's only boy But her favorite one it seems She began to cry when you said goodbye And sank into your dreams Pancho was a bandit boy
a gypsy now I got Her on all fours, 'bout to break Down the headboard crash this broad On through the wall now she howlin' like a dog swept poor We hit
you claiming? What set you claiming? Nigga what set you claiming? What set you claiming? Boy, what set you claiming? Boy, what set you claiming? Boy,
Bridge:] Dro dats all nigga Car dont come out till fall nigga Whip a nigga ass with a tall nigga Nigga we aint stuntin yo balls nigga Fuck you boy you
, my friend Was gonna keep you free and clean Now you wear your skin like iron Your breath's as hard as kerosene You weren't your mama's only boy But
world They're gonna start a brand new nation From that day on the 4th of July has been a holiday To the rich man, poor man and everybody else but the
burn Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip Don't make me put a lump on your lip A dip in your hip,
flaw Turn it up til it burns that stove top Mr know it all, bad boy showoffs Red lights, no stops Mumma, this can't be the boy you raised me to be The
the paper, stackin' at those Who be paper snatchin', will emerge like crack in the 80's Baby, maybe, that's if I slip But I became official since the
for sale but a cold and I caught one. For those of you who don't know, I hate sad songs so no singing at my funeral. He was a good boy, Why he
gangster can hire someone To do his work with a tommy gun While the president points at anyone And says, "I, your country wants the killing done, go do it now, boy
that wild tide Carroll's voice controlled the round up "Lie still, Lenore" he cried And then close up beside her Came Utah riding fast But little did the poor boy
communications? Or does the grass need cutting? Has it changed direction? The chants that only serve to divide The police link with the revenue, the royalties slide Now as poor