Famous - Curren$y

And you could tell

From distance tryna figure

The reals say I’m

But I’m still

And you could tell

Spitta in them monsta beats radioactive

Ain’t nothing change but the weather

And the temp tag sequence of letters and numbers on my Chevelle

You can ride, but hey man watch my leather

Cuz bitches get ejected in traffic from disrespecting a classic

Rosae in the glasses, get the weed out the plastic

Spitta in them Monstabeats radioactive, I don’t kick it with no rappers

They be hustling backwards

Like the jeans on criss cross, who you Mack daddy or daddy mackin?

Pen lyrics on back on these napkins

Zoned out in a first class cabin

With noise cancellation headphones

Two hash brownies for breakfast this morning staring down at the ocean, inspired

Scribbling fire, on a streetcar named desire

Struggle a fence, you oughta get caught up in the barbed-wire

I’m independent, fuck yo system I get paid without it

Got a new pothead bitch who moonlighting as a blogger

That rapper weed she smoke, that Spitta stroke, she rolled about it

You can’t deny it, I am a ridah word to Pac ambition

Whodini your main squeeze, she disappear she’s a magician

You can’t blame in the midst of the fame planes get changed, I

Sent to the waffle house twit my order from the car man

Yeah.

And I’m looking famous

And you can tell by the reaction of them strangers

From distance tryna figure if it is or if it ain’t him

The reals say I’m on it, the haters say I ain’t shit

But I’m still.

Looking famous

And you can tell by the reaction of them strangers

From distance tryna figure if it is or if it ain’t him

The reals say I’m on it, the haters say I ain’t shit

But I’m still.

I’m high again waiting on the sun dozed off in my '57 at the drive-in

This is a scary movie I’m in

But I do it for all my folk who genuinely want me to win

I do a lot a smoking to stay over this bogus shit

My money are not on these bitches, my focus is locked

Niggas claiming to be jet planes but they not

Pay homage, the founder in the house kid

A MILF hunter, ask yo momma she could vouch bitch

If she cool to fuck and down with rollin that barney up

Race-day money on the starting gate pony up

I hope your hungry

I got a plate of dutch for homie, liquor

Early morning exercise doing kush ups

I ain’t stingy with it, got a couple pounds put up

Bitches used to overlook us

Now in my presence they shook up

See where this rap shit done took us?

I’m stil, still.