Luniz Sad Millionaire Lyrics

Sad Millionaire Lyrics

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.