Вершы:
Styles The Real Gold

, but I smell crap "It's just a matter of time" that's what they said And what I want is a start, It's comin' over so MAKE ME REAL GOLD THE LIFE I WAS

d it bet I got some slippers on, bet niggas gon honor it these aint even real clothes homie I'm pajama rich Banks told me homie go switch the style up

ll slam a sista though, word Ice in the whole damn herd I fuck 'em all and leave 'em on the curve I got a bitch with a mink, who rocks a fat gold link

breath smellin' like semen I catch 'em in the alley all alone Put 'em in the prone, pop, pop, pop to the dome It's the G-style Gangsta style G style

You better get a end while the money's there, boy Silly ass bitch, runnin' around with a gold chain All niggas gotta get some real estate Muthafucka,

me unscratched in That millionaire boys club fashion Uh, you niggas is clones I hand out styles like ice cream cones, the fuck outta here That's Pha real, my gats is real

mek me feel nice If I don't got the right girl by my side, I can see girl right in your eye You ah the real top numba one prize, Miss paradise [Chorus

the roaches if anyone approaches We be like noches, buenos And I compose a poem for the many gun-slingers R&B singers, perpetrating guns with two fingers My style

who fat goose Queens bridge representative, ghetto entrepreneur, stay on tour Dick-riders, wanna get 'em bullshit The same law, same day contract, different clause Don't run red lights, I never caught the blue balls Gold