Текст песни Dead Broke - Scarface

This that late night shit

I'm in the house, oiling that Mac-11 barrel
Let it explode when I feel that you ain't playing fair
Another tale of how I live through this chaos
Strap under my pillow, barrel still hot
Lost three of my closest homies this year, it ain't surprising
Hurting inside, but they say our stock still rising
In tune with the streets cause I'm out there daily
Take my kindness for weakness, man, fuck you pay me
It's nothing personal, it's business 24/7
Front, I show you that you ain't the only nigga with a weapon
Authentic talk from the hood's number one spokesman
That Product shit: Face Mob, Will Hen
Let me deal the cards, liquor got me feeling odd
I feel rich, so I'm buying everything I couldn't afford
Now where you at? Hit me back like a Boost Mobile
You go through the same shit I go through

Money my issue, might resort to a pistol
If I can't get paid, then I'll send niggas out to get ya
And it's a must that I touch something quick
Plus I'm tired of being broke in this bitch, listen at me charlie
I'm on the come up, if the come up mean a nigga gotta die dawg?
Then I'mon die young, fuck it, unh
I'd rather be dead than have it being said
That I died broke and scared instead of getting bread
Yeah

Well it's hard for real niggas to thrive amongst the fake phonies
If you the truth then keep it hood with your little homies
And that ain't asking much, how hard is that to really do
And if you don't believe in me, then why should I believe in you
The loyal type of dude and I ain't been deceiving you
I'm still picky 'bout my friends and run with a chosen few
Your life crazy? My living is psycho
Aflac wouldn't cover me, and neither would Geico
Yet and still, I scream The Product Gang until I go
But how many dues a nigga gotta pay before he blow? (damn)
I'm tryna make my money spitting flows
But it's seeming like I make more money pimping on these hoes
Gotta ask myself, will it ever change
Will I ever flip the Bentley coupe or push the cherry Range
Or is it back to the streets and the crime rate
Anything I gotta do to get my peace of mindstate

Whatever coast you claim, it's all the same grind
People searching for a pot of gold that they may never find
Love and hate stay divided by a thin line
Don't need a bunch of nosy motherfuckers all up in mine
Record sales up, yours on the decline
Just about to finish this race, you falling behind
Tiptoe to the ghetto with John Bido
Got beef on your mind, I don't think so

Attached by the hip to the clip and the D. Eagle
Me, Face, Young, and Bido 'bout to get this money legal
Living the fast life, I calculate each step
If money is the mystery then tell me the secret
Number one suspect, why? I got the most motives
Probably the coldest, from the mouth or from the shoulders
We right here, like the last men standing
We ain't asking for it no more, we demanding it