One Millionaire


One millionaire, two millionaire, three millionaire, four

Busting out the windows, kicking through the gates, forget going through the doors.

Black hoodie and a ski mask, they didn’t come to play because they’re at war.

Yea you should have put the stack of money up when she told you to do your chores.

Now whatever they find, yea it’s theirs, it’s no longer yours.

They sliding through cause ain’t nothing to do. They be bored.

They had crack mamas and they are some crack babies so they know how to run through the drawers.

They found illicit things but that ain’t enough because they want more.

So they caught you slippin’ while you were whippin’ and they ran up on you at the door.

Two stray bullets hit your chest now you laying there in South Shore.

Cops flying, people crying and all you see is blood and gore.

The sad part is you ain’t make the news because you’re just another dead Vice Lord.