Paper Made Lyrics
| Song | Paper Made |
| Artist | C-BO |
| Album | Enemy of the State |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Mosley, Thomas | |
| My whole crew is platinum | |
| Quick to throw it down with Magnums | |
| We ain't duckin' when the guns start blastin' | |
| What's happenin' | |
| West Coast rollin', Benjamins foldin' | |
| ****** bank accounts holdin', more loot than the jews | |
| And I just stepped fresh up out some county blues | |
| Had me all on the news, cuz I'm gettin' my paper | |
| And my goal life now is livin' it major | |
| Coppin' Crystal, Champagne | |
| I'm in the 'Natti with the blow brains | |
| Leavin' my mansion up in Spokane | |
| The **** Game, was lovely | |
| Out with the flip rollos and drop Benzes when they clucked me | |
| Now the haters wanna mug me, cuz I'm AMG kid candy on some dub leech | |
| But ****** them tricks cuz they haters | |
| They stick out like short thumbs around Playaz | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| All I wanna do is get my paper straight | |
| Roll up highways sideways out the gates | |
| Luxury livin' baddest women and I'm straight | |
| Back up with the flames ************ | |
| I'm Paper Made | |
| [C-Bo] | |
| I still scream "****** the World" _Til My Casket Drop_ | |
| I give a ****** about parole and these bastard cops | |
| He could see me on TV coat with two glocks and a P | |
| Cuz some ************ ****** snitched on me down in Cincinnati | |
| I bet the ************ thought he had me | |
| Ain't that a ************ how ******z trip | |
| That ****** must have been smokin' the cavi | |
| I won't rest until my 'Natti ******z get him | |
| Run up in him hit him with a blade up of in his kidney | |
| And leave him face down, real ******z don't play around | |
| Paralyze that mother****** from the waste down | |
| Cuz he's a ************ turned snitch on the next ****** | |
| On sight I'm takin' his life with the Tec trigga | |
| And give a ****** about his kid, cuz he didn't give a ****** about mine | |
| When I was servin' my bid | |
| I knew he was a flunky, punk ****** dressed like a junkie | |
| Runnin' around with a pound of bunk ****** | |
| [Chorus x2] | |
| [C-Bo] | |
| See I'm all about the cash fool | |
| Blast to get a mill and I keep it real fool | |
| I owe court and the streets, ****** a deal | |
| Wanna see me cuffed and stuck in the back seat of a cop car | |
| When I got jewels and pull more strings on a good tar/guitar than a rock star | |
| Cop car by the UB wanna do me down like Doobie | |
| Straight haters is what you fools be | |
| Hangin' on my ****** like newbies | |
| You do three's dumped outta trees is how we do these | |
| Enemies when we WC 'em down like my crew be | |
| Pack heaters nonetheless and now better leave his | |
| Bulletproof vest down in the Beemer | |
| Hit 'em up we lead 'em then streetsweap 'em | |
| We don't need 'em | |
| That ******'s a ************ like Ru Paul | |
| Whipped his with his ass you'll be sold like blue ****** | |
| We some murderers, haven't ya heard of the straight killa | |
| All black, the realest on the map, mission to get the millas | |
| Y'all best off feel me, a mother******' real G | |
| In this ************t Paper Made til they kill me kill me | |
| [Chorus x2] |
| zuo ci : Mosley, Thomas | |
| My whole crew is platinum | |
| Quick to throw it down with Magnums | |
| We ain' t duckin' when the guns start blastin' | |
| What' s happenin' | |
| West Coast rollin', Benjamins foldin' | |
| bank accounts holdin', more loot than the jews | |
| And I just stepped fresh up out some county blues | |
| Had me all on the news, cuz I' m gettin' my paper | |
| And my goal life now is livin' it major | |
| Coppin' Crystal, Champagne | |
| I' m in the ' Natti with the blow brains | |
| Leavin' my mansion up in Spokane | |
| The Game, was lovely | |
| Out with the flip rollos and drop Benzes when they clucked me | |
| Now the haters wanna mug me, cuz I' m AMG kid candy on some dub leech | |
| But them tricks cuz they haters | |
| They stick out like short thumbs around Playaz | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| All I wanna do is get my paper straight | |
| Roll up highways sideways out the gates | |
| Luxury livin' baddest women and I' m straight | |
| Back up with the flames | |
| I' m Paper Made | |
| CBo | |
| I still scream " the World" _Til My Casket Drop_ | |
| I give a about parole and these bastard cops | |
| He could see me on TV coat with two glocks and a P | |
| Cuz some snitched on me down in Cincinnati | |
| I bet the thought he had me | |
| Ain' t that a how z trip | |
| That must have been smokin' the cavi | |
| I won' t rest until my ' Natti z get him | |
| Run up in him hit him with a blade up of in his kidney | |
| And leave him face down, real z don' t play around | |
| Paralyze that mother from the waste down | |
| Cuz he' s a turned snitch on the next | |
| On sight I' m takin' his life with the Tec trigga | |
| And give a about his kid, cuz he didn' t give a about mine | |
| When I was servin' my bid | |
| I knew he was a flunky, punk dressed like a junkie | |
| Runnin' around with a pound of bunk | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| CBo | |
| See I' m all about the cash fool | |
| Blast to get a mill and I keep it real fool | |
| I owe court and the streets, a deal | |
| Wanna see me cuffed and stuck in the back seat of a cop car | |
| When I got jewels and pull more strings on a good tar guitar than a rock star | |
| Cop car by the UB wanna do me down like Doobie | |
| Straight haters is what you fools be | |
| Hangin' on my like newbies | |
| You do three' s dumped outta trees is how we do these | |
| Enemies when we WC ' em down like my crew be | |
| Pack heaters nonetheless and now better leave his | |
| Bulletproof vest down in the Beemer | |
| Hit ' em up we lead ' em then streetsweap ' em | |
| We don' t need ' em | |
| That ' s a like Ru Paul | |
| Whipped his with his ass you' ll be sold like blue | |
| We some murderers, haven' t ya heard of the straight killa | |
| All black, the realest on the map, mission to get the millas | |
| Y' all best off feel me, a mother' real G | |
| In this t Paper Made til they kill me kill me | |
| Chorus x2 |
| zuò cí : Mosley, Thomas | |
| My whole crew is platinum | |
| Quick to throw it down with Magnums | |
| We ain' t duckin' when the guns start blastin' | |
| What' s happenin' | |
| West Coast rollin', Benjamins foldin' | |
| bank accounts holdin', more loot than the jews | |
| And I just stepped fresh up out some county blues | |
| Had me all on the news, cuz I' m gettin' my paper | |
| And my goal life now is livin' it major | |
| Coppin' Crystal, Champagne | |
| I' m in the ' Natti with the blow brains | |
| Leavin' my mansion up in Spokane | |
| The Game, was lovely | |
| Out with the flip rollos and drop Benzes when they clucked me | |
| Now the haters wanna mug me, cuz I' m AMG kid candy on some dub leech | |
| But them tricks cuz they haters | |
| They stick out like short thumbs around Playaz | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| All I wanna do is get my paper straight | |
| Roll up highways sideways out the gates | |
| Luxury livin' baddest women and I' m straight | |
| Back up with the flames | |
| I' m Paper Made | |
| CBo | |
| I still scream " the World" _Til My Casket Drop_ | |
| I give a about parole and these bastard cops | |
| He could see me on TV coat with two glocks and a P | |
| Cuz some snitched on me down in Cincinnati | |
| I bet the thought he had me | |
| Ain' t that a how z trip | |
| That must have been smokin' the cavi | |
| I won' t rest until my ' Natti z get him | |
| Run up in him hit him with a blade up of in his kidney | |
| And leave him face down, real z don' t play around | |
| Paralyze that mother from the waste down | |
| Cuz he' s a turned snitch on the next | |
| On sight I' m takin' his life with the Tec trigga | |
| And give a about his kid, cuz he didn' t give a about mine | |
| When I was servin' my bid | |
| I knew he was a flunky, punk dressed like a junkie | |
| Runnin' around with a pound of bunk | |
| Chorus x2 | |
| CBo | |
| See I' m all about the cash fool | |
| Blast to get a mill and I keep it real fool | |
| I owe court and the streets, a deal | |
| Wanna see me cuffed and stuck in the back seat of a cop car | |
| When I got jewels and pull more strings on a good tar guitar than a rock star | |
| Cop car by the UB wanna do me down like Doobie | |
| Straight haters is what you fools be | |
| Hangin' on my like newbies | |
| You do three' s dumped outta trees is how we do these | |
| Enemies when we WC ' em down like my crew be | |
| Pack heaters nonetheless and now better leave his | |
| Bulletproof vest down in the Beemer | |
| Hit ' em up we lead ' em then streetsweap ' em | |
| We don' t need ' em | |
| That ' s a like Ru Paul | |
| Whipped his with his ass you' ll be sold like blue | |
| We some murderers, haven' t ya heard of the straight killa | |
| All black, the realest on the map, mission to get the millas | |
| Y' all best off feel me, a mother' real G | |
| In this t Paper Made til they kill me kill me | |
| Chorus x2 |
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