American Dream

  • (Cryin', cryin', cryin', cryin') Yeah, what's up? (Yeah, what's up?)
    Welcome to America baby (uh)
    Home of the brave, American dream, you know? (yeah) (dream baby)
    Uh, uh, yeah, let's go

    I just want a big ol' bag of money when I see my jeweler (yeah)
    Get a hard-on when I'm countin' up that mula (what's up?)
    Scarface, into livin' life like a king (yeah)
    Every day eatin' good with my team (the American dream) (what's up?)
    First they said I wouldn't, but I knew that I would make it (I knew it)
    Copped my first pie, yeah, I knew that I could bake it (what's up?)
    Scarface vision, livin' life like a king (hey)
    Every day grindin' hard with my team (the American dream) (yeah, oh)

    You either good or you great
    You either real or you fake
    That's why I stay spittin' the real
    Because the real ones relate
    Y'all must was raised by some haters
    You niggas go 'head and hate
    Four car garage for the 'Rari, that bitch came with the estate
    I swear them streets get so tricky, glad I ain't fall for the bait
    So focused and I'm determined, can see that shit in my face
    You niggas go 'head and face it
    Lil' bitch, ain't shit 'bout me basic
    Hit a lick on them bitches and went and iced out the bracelet
    Never let my flaws and my past come get the best of me (never)
    Turn a two fifty to a half, I got the recipe
    First my president was black, now my president is wack (wack)
    I ain't never goin' broke, what's American in that? (hey, let's go)

    I just want a big ol' bag of money when I see my jeweler (woo)
    Get a hard-on when I'm countin' up that mula (haha)
    Scarface, into livin' life like a king (hey)
    Every day eatin' good with my team (the American dream)
    First they said I wouldn't, but I knew that I would make it
    Copped my first pie, yeah, I knew that I could bake it (alright)
    Scarface vision, livin' life like a king
    Every day grindin' hard with my team (the American dream) (oh)

    Got money to make, blow out the candles then cut up the cake
    Then I put it on plate, I'm runnin' the game, you runnin' in place
    Still a youngin' at heart, but mentally, bitch I'm a hundred and eight
    Like Pun in the late nineties, my niggas is jugglin' weight
    Runnin' from state to state, gunnin' up ways to safety
    I'm on a paper chase, whatever it takes to make me
    A millionaire, silly 'cause how many really get there?
    I mean, how many niggas is Jeezy?
    Y'all make this shit sound so easy
    Breezy, turn on the TV, see these niggas that trap on the CD
    Meanwhile, back home, my niggas sell crack at the BP (slide)
    Hopin' one day they can be the (slide)
    Niggas that's there on the screen (slide)
    'Cause that's the American dream (slide)
    Now here go the thing, listen
    Hysterical screams, comin' from mothers that buried their kings
    Or the unbearable pain of watchin' them walk out with the sheriff in chains
    Becomin' a number, they no longer care bout the name
    White folks been gettin' rich off of cocaine
    Through some underhanded methods, I don't got time to explain
    Out of fear that I won't reach 'em and since preachin' ain't my thing
    I just drop a gem or two within a few verses I sing
    For all my real niggas trapped inside the game, you know that already

    I just want a big ol' bag of money when I see my jeweler (woo)
    Get a hard-on when I'm countin' up that mula (haha)
    Scarface, into livin' life like a king (hey)
    Every day eatin' good with my team (the American dream)
    First they said I wouldn't, but I knew that I would make it
    Copped my first pie, yeah, I knew that I could bake it (alright)
    Scarface vision, livin' life like a king
    Every day grindin' hard with my team (the American dream) (oh)

    (Yeah yuh)
    These streets made for ballin' (yeah yuh)
    Ten toes ain't for fallin' (yeah yuh)
    I hear the world callin'
    Tell me if ya all in (tell me if ya all in)
    Look, look, I gotta eat, I gotta, make money with
    I gotta feast, I gotta rely on what is known to the travelin' man
    Set his own, got my Bible and my rifle in my hand, oh yeah
    I gotta eat, I gotta, make money with
    I gotta feast, I gotta rely on what is known to the travelin' man
    Set his own, got my Bible and my rifle in my hand, oh yeah
    (Cryin', cryin', cryin', cryin')
    (Cryin', cryin', cryin', cryin') Writer/s: BILAL OLIVER, DOMNICK LAMB, JAMIE MCKAY, JAY JENKINS, JERMAINE LAMARR COLE, JULIUS PRESTON, KEITH FOGAH, KENDRICK LAMAR, MACINTOSH HUNDAL, BILAL S. OLIVER, DOMINICK J. LAMB, JAY W. JENKINS, JERMAINE L. COLE, KEITH ALEXANDER FOGAH, KENDRICK LAMAR DUCKWORTH
    Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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