Villain man never ran with crills in his hand
and won't stop rockin' until he clock in a gazzillion grand
'Til he in the wasteland sands
raps on on backs of treasure maps. stacks to the ceiling fan
he'll rest when he's ashes. ask him after 10 miles and his goulashes mash his stashes.
Chip on his shoulder with a slip-on holster.
A clip, a folder, and his grip on a bolder poster
they supposed to know. It'll show when his aura glow.
Get from out the row. When he get dough: its horrible.
Time is money. Spend, waste, save, invest, the fest.
The tin case of (?)
yes. Y'all, don't forget ya trickles.
The best ballers pitch in. Rub to get a nickles.
When tut-tut. He about to change the price again
they go up each time he blow up, like, hydrogen.
Villian hear have 'em shrillin' in fear.
And Won't top-illin' until he a gazzillionaire.
Grill and stare. Yeah, ya boy had drama.
Got him on a mental plane; avoided bad karma.
Once sold an inbred skinhead a nigga-joke.
Plus a brand new chrome smoker with the triggers broke.
I thought I told him fire and pins were separate.
He'll find out later when tries to go and rep it.
Took her to hold the money for a Arabic Victoria.
Charged in advance to translate it and ignored her, sorta.
One monkey don't stop no slaughter.
A junkie wanna cop a quarter-ton; run for the border.
No the drill. It ain't worth the overkill.
Flow skill. Still, there's no thrill.
Villain puttin' 10k bills in his pilla.
Villain when it gets realer, split the scrilla with
Dilla, Dilla, mix, mix, mix.
