Judge Mathis - Jarren Benton

Through the lights, cameras, the action

Glammers, glitters, and gold

So much money that my paper won’t fold

Shooting game at these hoes

Like I’m bishop, magic, done one

Out in Hong Kong, eating stuffed wontons

With this dumb blonde

East side, that’s where I come from

Doctor Lecter, bitch

I move effortless, Actavis in my beverage (bitch)

I murder beats like a terrorist, get a therapist

This mac’ll make a pussy nigga do a pirouette

Standing on top of pyramids, watching these snakes slither quick

My bitch could make her pussy toke a couple cigarettes

I bet I be more than nigga rich

Gun powder in my pits, kibbles and bits

The champagne fizzles a bit

Mister Benton, I’m invisible bitch

Keep an icepick to chisel a prick

She discovered my discography, she listens to Rittz

I gave her a couple hits and now she’s licking my dick

Yeah, smooth as a gator on a block of ice

Tough guys get chop chopped with a pocket knife

I’m on the grind tryna get these fucking pockets right

Helicopters hover the block at night

Crack head, stuck to Lucifer’s noose

Another warm Saturday, I take the roof off the coupe

I’m drinking again, I guess I mixed the juice and the Goose

I cum in your bitch’s hair, she say she use it as mousse

Watching Judge Mathis, flicking ashes on these nigga’s fabric

Riding with a dime piece in a vintage Maverick

I just copped a time machine, and a new Bugatti

Just cause they dress like faggots, they ain’t Illuminati

Bitch, yea

Ya’ll pussy ass niggas sleeping on the god, man

You know what I’m saying?

When a nigga start goddamn shinning, do-don't act like you know me then, nigga

You know what I’m saying?

Go put your god damn shoes in the freezer, bitch

'Cos you walking on motherfucking thin ice, nigga

Jarren Benton, ya’ll niggas ain’t fucking with the kid, bitch

(Yea) Let’s go

A drug dealer’s dream, cup filled with lean

stuffed to the seams

Green, power time, all I see is dollar signs

You get out of line, take you out your olive nines

Fuck, ocean view in the hands

Tell the bitch cook something, throw some food in the pan

Then I send her home with the scent of my dick

I’m a beast, I’m a dog, get the vet when I’m sick

Shit, I’m too fat to fit in the Panamera

Strappers lit, these rappers bitching, they ran in terror

From the attic era, 'matic in the hammer bearer

Smash your, rub my baby batter in like Aloe Vera

Bet she told you she ain’t like fat guys

'Till I got her that high, plug like a flash drive

Crushed in a cab ride, fuck, let the cash fly

King shit, getting sucked, eating Pad Thai

Murder for the chips again, burn 'em for the dividends

Tailor made ostrich, Birkin for my women friends

Uh, I got monetary obsessions, got to carry a weapon

They plot on my very essence

Uh, I’m from the bottom and I’m glad we are

You know straight Honda Civics, no caddy cars

I turned a stogey to a grand daddy 'gar

And now it’s all about the xanny bars and caviar

Rappers talk suspicious, like they bought some viscous

Boy how you the weight man?

You washing dishes

How many rappers really get it 'fore they get in

My yellow gold Cuban make these rappers tuck they shit in

Bitch