Lyrics Sim Dope - AKA

Mama Africa
Mama Africa

Hands in the air if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that's the angle
Private jet Benzo, can't see through the window
So if I die I pray to God, He brings me back to Sim Dope

Sim Dope
911 rims spokes
Back when it was college I would've came out with crib notes (crib notes)
Teachers say he got a problem dealing with the temple
But you ain't even fucking with his gym clothes

Don't see the roof, that's German auto
JC Le Roux, one thousand bottles
I see the truth, it's the land of promise
Call me the proof, I'm just being honest
Oh, oh, Mama Africa
Mama Africa
Mama Africa

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that's the angle
Private jet Benzo, can't see through the window
So if I die I pray to God, He brings me back to Sim Dope

Sometimes I look at my mother, I think of what could've been
Imagine building a palace that's only fit for a queen
My daddy climbed up the ladder until he ran out of steam
Reputation was damaged but never ran out of dreams
That's why I talk in my sleep
Fortunately my esteem is all for people who awfully talk it even in the street
Especially if all of the talking is cheap
I got the recipe making beats with my enemies my conscience is clean, oh

Don't see the roof, that's German auto
JC Le Roux, one thousand bottles
I see the truth, it's the land of promise
Call me the proof, I'm just being honest
Oh, oh, Mama Africa
Mama Africa
Mama Africa

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that's the angle
Private jet Benzo, can't see through the window
So if I die I pray to God he brings me back to Sim Dope

Yeah, I'm in this bitch with Mandela
They put my name in the envelope you should fuck with the winners
You got some buzz from your single but that's just luck for beginners
I'm coming back in another life just to stunt on your children
Uh, drop top for the summer time
Proposing this toast focused on goals like I'm number nine

Every one of these flows my foes gone analyze
Eyes closed while I fantasize
Nice clothes in my jewelry ice-cold like Savannah Dry
Power moves being strategized
So if I die I'm leaving behind some read dope
Bring me back to Sim Dope there's still hope

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that's the angle
Private jet Benzo, can't see through the window
So if I die I pray to God, He bring me back to Sim Dope