American Dream Lyrics
| Song | American Dream |
| Artist | Big B |
| Album | Music for Misfits |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [Verse 1 - McGruff] | |
| Crooked corrupted criminal crime boss with cream | |
| ******* hustler, blowing out the brains of busters | |
| Be in my mansion chillin', inhalin' the ganja smoke | |
| Counting mad cream, weighin' tons of coke | |
| Guarded by thugs and Rottweilers | |
| I flood the streets with drugs and clock dollars | |
| Niggas get plugged when my Glock hollers | |
| Skunk smokers, Philly and Owl ripper | |
| Cristal sipper, I've been a willy for a while nigga | |
| 'Gruff got hoes, the man with all the nachos | |
| Expensive hot clothes, drop top Rolls | |
| East coast, West coast, fiends overdose | |
| 'Gruff get the cream with my team and I'm ghost | |
| [Verse 2 - Ma\$e] | |
| This money be temptin' me, to jump out the MPV | |
| Empty three clips of hollow tips with no sympathy | |
| Since 14, I sold ******** for more green | |
| Kept **** in a Nautica coat under the drawstring | |
| And watched out for cops, squad cars, and Beemers | |
| And laundry ninas, flee the country to Argentina | |
| Laid back in the beach (yeah) coastin' with commuters | |
| Smokin' the buddahs on the cruiseline boat to Aruba | |
| For a while, yo; pump the vowel so I can pile dough | |
| Then become a Harlem kingpin just like Alpo' | |
| Get paid so I can lay low in San Diego | |
| With yayo so I can ship it out whenever I say so | |
| [Hook] | |
| Yo! Makin' this money is the American Dream | |
| East Coast to West Coast, you know what I mean | |
| Whether it's Uptown, Downtown; you pick the scene | |
| You gots to get your own scheme | |
| We ain't splittin' this cream | |
| [Verse 3 - Cam'ron] | |
| Yo! I'mma run hysterically, till they bury me | |
| Count numerically,hills of Beverly | |
| More grands than cherokee; president like Eric B., and Rakim | |
| Drug game, I'm top ten; locked in? Right now its not an option | |
| And those who creep got the Mac in the heat | |
| They got the five-inch screens in the back of the seat | |
| And now they got this daddy raggin' | |
| Last year, had me saggin', wasn't ready | |
| When Heavy was back, tossed me in the paddywagon | |
| But ain't nobody out here stoppin' love | |
| Cause we was twelve years old in the Cotton Club, poppin' bub' | |
| So all the fame without the fortune; goddamn, you wrong | |
| Killa kid Cam-e-ron surviving in the Amazon | |
| [Verse 4 - BloodShed] | |
| Yo! I leave you dazed and froze | |
| With all kinds of amazing flows | |
| Money surrounded I counted | |
| While bathing with Asian hoes | |
| Back home niggas is after me | |
| I'm back to sea, sippin' daquiris | |
| Coke factory, fiends baggin' up crack for me | |
| From cutting up rocks to investing in stocks | |
| Nautica yachts, and knots busting outta my socks | |
| Now that Bloods play the chub | |
| All the ladies love me, they hate who made me hubby | |
| Behind my back they say my baby's ugly | |
| Each night I sleep, with freaks with Lamborghini jeeps | |
| Neighbors be sneaking peeks, how my ***** leaks, between the sheets | |
| Mess up my loot, I cut your collars, Juan | |
| Cause these is modern times, and the only thing I see is dollar signs | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 5 - Big L] | |
| Check it! To be seen clean in the mean Beam | |
| Is every team's dream; Big L's a cream fiend | |
| With more green than Springsteen | |
| You know I'm crazy quick to smack a groupie | |
| I'm known to mack a hoochie | |
| Do I got stacks of lucci (Absolutely!) | |
| Harlem kids is known for felonies | |
| And sellin' keys, pushin 300Z's | |
| GS3's, and puffin' trees | |
| These G's breeze while DTs | |
| Be yellin, 'freeze!', we stash cheese | |
| And keep a pocket full of centuries | |
| Ayo, I'm set for the rest of my life | |
| Some clown that laid the threat cause I had sex with his wife | |
| I stuck my tool to his brain, said "act a fool and get slain” | |
| Nigga, yo' ***** chose me, you know the rules to the game | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Outro] | |
| Yea What? Harlem on the Rise | |
| BloodShed, Killa Kam | |
| Six Figures, Cee-O-Cee, Chuck Blassie | |
| My Man man Mase, the Bad Boy | |
| Uptown, McGruff | |
| Big L, 139, NFL, 140 |
| Verse 1 McGruff | |
| Crooked corrupted criminal crime boss with cream | |
| hustler, blowing out the brains of busters | |
| Be in my mansion chillin', inhalin' the ganja smoke | |
| Counting mad cream, weighin' tons of coke | |
| Guarded by thugs and Rottweilers | |
| I flood the streets with drugs and clock dollars | |
| Niggas get plugged when my Glock hollers | |
| Skunk smokers, Philly and Owl ripper | |
| Cristal sipper, I' ve been a willy for a while nigga | |
| ' Gruff got hoes, the man with all the nachos | |
| Expensive hot clothes, drop top Rolls | |
| East coast, West coast, fiends overdose | |
| ' Gruff get the cream with my team and I' m ghost | |
| Verse 2 Ma e | |
| This money be temptin' me, to jump out the MPV | |
| Empty three clips of hollow tips with no sympathy | |
| Since 14, I sold for more green | |
| Kept in a Nautica coat under the drawstring | |
| And watched out for cops, squad cars, and Beemers | |
| And laundry ninas, flee the country to Argentina | |
| Laid back in the beach yeah coastin' with commuters | |
| Smokin' the buddahs on the cruiseline boat to Aruba | |
| For a while, yo pump the vowel so I can pile dough | |
| Then become a Harlem kingpin just like Alpo' | |
| Get paid so I can lay low in San Diego | |
| With yayo so I can ship it out whenever I say so | |
| Hook | |
| Yo! Makin' this money is the American Dream | |
| East Coast to West Coast, you know what I mean | |
| Whether it' s Uptown, Downtown you pick the scene | |
| You gots to get your own scheme | |
| We ain' t splittin' this cream | |
| Verse 3 Cam' ron | |
| Yo! I' mma run hysterically, till they bury me | |
| Count numerically, hills of Beverly | |
| More grands than cherokee president like Eric B., and Rakim | |
| Drug game, I' m top ten locked in? Right now its not an option | |
| And those who creep got the Mac in the heat | |
| They got the fiveinch screens in the back of the seat | |
| And now they got this daddy raggin' | |
| Last year, had me saggin', wasn' t ready | |
| When Heavy was back, tossed me in the paddywagon | |
| But ain' t nobody out here stoppin' love | |
| Cause we was twelve years old in the Cotton Club, poppin' bub' | |
| So all the fame without the fortune goddamn, you wrong | |
| Killa kid Cameron surviving in the Amazon | |
| Verse 4 BloodShed | |
| Yo! I leave you dazed and froze | |
| With all kinds of amazing flows | |
| Money surrounded I counted | |
| While bathing with Asian hoes | |
| Back home niggas is after me | |
| I' m back to sea, sippin' daquiris | |
| Coke factory, fiends baggin' up crack for me | |
| From cutting up rocks to investing in stocks | |
| Nautica yachts, and knots busting outta my socks | |
| Now that Bloods play the chub | |
| All the ladies love me, they hate who made me hubby | |
| Behind my back they say my baby' s ugly | |
| Each night I sleep, with freaks with Lamborghini jeeps | |
| Neighbors be sneaking peeks, how my leaks, between the sheets | |
| Mess up my loot, I cut your collars, Juan | |
| Cause these is modern times, and the only thing I see is dollar signs | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 5 Big L | |
| Check it! To be seen clean in the mean Beam | |
| Is every team' s dream Big L' s a cream fiend | |
| With more green than Springsteen | |
| You know I' m crazy quick to smack a groupie | |
| I' m known to mack a hoochie | |
| Do I got stacks of lucci Absolutely! | |
| Harlem kids is known for felonies | |
| And sellin' keys, pushin 300Z' s | |
| GS3' s, and puffin' trees | |
| These G' s breeze while DTs | |
| Be yellin, ' freeze!', we stash cheese | |
| And keep a pocket full of centuries | |
| Ayo, I' m set for the rest of my life | |
| Some clown that laid the threat cause I had sex with his wife | |
| I stuck my tool to his brain, said " act a fool and get slain" | |
| Nigga, yo' chose me, you know the rules to the game | |
| Hook | |
| Outro | |
| Yea What? Harlem on the Rise | |
| BloodShed, Killa Kam | |
| Six Figures, CeeOCee, Chuck Blassie | |
| My Man man Mase, the Bad Boy | |
| Uptown, McGruff | |
| Big L, 139, NFL, 140 |
| Verse 1 McGruff | |
| Crooked corrupted criminal crime boss with cream | |
| hustler, blowing out the brains of busters | |
| Be in my mansion chillin', inhalin' the ganja smoke | |
| Counting mad cream, weighin' tons of coke | |
| Guarded by thugs and Rottweilers | |
| I flood the streets with drugs and clock dollars | |
| Niggas get plugged when my Glock hollers | |
| Skunk smokers, Philly and Owl ripper | |
| Cristal sipper, I' ve been a willy for a while nigga | |
| ' Gruff got hoes, the man with all the nachos | |
| Expensive hot clothes, drop top Rolls | |
| East coast, West coast, fiends overdose | |
| ' Gruff get the cream with my team and I' m ghost | |
| Verse 2 Ma e | |
| This money be temptin' me, to jump out the MPV | |
| Empty three clips of hollow tips with no sympathy | |
| Since 14, I sold for more green | |
| Kept in a Nautica coat under the drawstring | |
| And watched out for cops, squad cars, and Beemers | |
| And laundry ninas, flee the country to Argentina | |
| Laid back in the beach yeah coastin' with commuters | |
| Smokin' the buddahs on the cruiseline boat to Aruba | |
| For a while, yo pump the vowel so I can pile dough | |
| Then become a Harlem kingpin just like Alpo' | |
| Get paid so I can lay low in San Diego | |
| With yayo so I can ship it out whenever I say so | |
| Hook | |
| Yo! Makin' this money is the American Dream | |
| East Coast to West Coast, you know what I mean | |
| Whether it' s Uptown, Downtown you pick the scene | |
| You gots to get your own scheme | |
| We ain' t splittin' this cream | |
| Verse 3 Cam' ron | |
| Yo! I' mma run hysterically, till they bury me | |
| Count numerically, hills of Beverly | |
| More grands than cherokee president like Eric B., and Rakim | |
| Drug game, I' m top ten locked in? Right now its not an option | |
| And those who creep got the Mac in the heat | |
| They got the fiveinch screens in the back of the seat | |
| And now they got this daddy raggin' | |
| Last year, had me saggin', wasn' t ready | |
| When Heavy was back, tossed me in the paddywagon | |
| But ain' t nobody out here stoppin' love | |
| Cause we was twelve years old in the Cotton Club, poppin' bub' | |
| So all the fame without the fortune goddamn, you wrong | |
| Killa kid Cameron surviving in the Amazon | |
| Verse 4 BloodShed | |
| Yo! I leave you dazed and froze | |
| With all kinds of amazing flows | |
| Money surrounded I counted | |
| While bathing with Asian hoes | |
| Back home niggas is after me | |
| I' m back to sea, sippin' daquiris | |
| Coke factory, fiends baggin' up crack for me | |
| From cutting up rocks to investing in stocks | |
| Nautica yachts, and knots busting outta my socks | |
| Now that Bloods play the chub | |
| All the ladies love me, they hate who made me hubby | |
| Behind my back they say my baby' s ugly | |
| Each night I sleep, with freaks with Lamborghini jeeps | |
| Neighbors be sneaking peeks, how my leaks, between the sheets | |
| Mess up my loot, I cut your collars, Juan | |
| Cause these is modern times, and the only thing I see is dollar signs | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 5 Big L | |
| Check it! To be seen clean in the mean Beam | |
| Is every team' s dream Big L' s a cream fiend | |
| With more green than Springsteen | |
| You know I' m crazy quick to smack a groupie | |
| I' m known to mack a hoochie | |
| Do I got stacks of lucci Absolutely! | |
| Harlem kids is known for felonies | |
| And sellin' keys, pushin 300Z' s | |
| GS3' s, and puffin' trees | |
| These G' s breeze while DTs | |
| Be yellin, ' freeze!', we stash cheese | |
| And keep a pocket full of centuries | |
| Ayo, I' m set for the rest of my life | |
| Some clown that laid the threat cause I had sex with his wife | |
| I stuck my tool to his brain, said " act a fool and get slain" | |
| Nigga, yo' chose me, you know the rules to the game | |
| Hook | |
| Outro | |
| Yea What? Harlem on the Rise | |
| BloodShed, Killa Kam | |
| Six Figures, CeeOCee, Chuck Blassie | |
| My Man man Mase, the Bad Boy | |
| Uptown, McGruff | |
| Big L, 139, NFL, 140 |
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