Sim Dope - AKA

Hands in the air, if you been broke

I see millionaires, making bread that’s the end goal

Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window

So if I die I pray to God he brings me back as Sim Dope

Sim Dope, 911 rims spokes

Back when it was college I would’ve came out with 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

J.C. Le Roux, 1000 bottles

I see the truth, this the land of promise

Call me the proof, I’m just being honest

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 awkward for people who awfully talkative in the street

Especially if all the talking is cheap

I got the recipe making peace with my enemies my conscious is clean

I’m in this bitch with Mandela

They pull my name out 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

Drop top for the summer time

Proposing this toast focused on goals like I’m number 9

Every one of these flows my foes gon' analyse

Eyes closed while I fantasize

Nice clothes and my jewellery ice cold like Savannah Dry

Power moves being strategized

So if I die I’m leaving behind some real dope

Bring me back as 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 brings me back to Sim Dope