I leave a part -time hustler and a past life page, fashion in my color so it match my suede.
I craft another page, Max and I'm in shade.
Just imagine me in linen, liquor in my lemonade.
I did evolve, different than you limping with your cane.
Two years from now, they'll be telling me I changed.
Love me while you got me, I'll be obviously out your week of range.
Secretaries handle all your claims, I'm estranged.
Now, if you didn't live the life, and TV is your only teeny glimpse of what it's like.
Your fantasy is glamorously deeper than it is.
You say things like, don't forget me when you're big.
Duh -ha.
Maybe I forgot you when I wasn't.
A couple of you only checking for me cause I'm buzzing.
Shame on you assuming I would be your opportunity.
When I was on your level, I was never on your viewing screen.
Oh, the irony's exquisite.
My friends say I'm big time cause I'm busy living like they are.
If I only had the cars, jets, model, which dress, jets.
Take it up with my secretary.
So picture that when you live in black and you swimming with the sharks,
but your limit is a lap.
Image is a trap.
Different isn't whack though.
It's easier to sell it when the pigeon's in the gash.
That's something they've been telling me for years.
And I would switch styles, but the shoe is so fierce.
Wear it cause it fit, not because it's in the magazine.
I walk from the title belt and he gonna wear it after.
But I still gotta walk, don't I?
So I might as well stroll cause I'm cold.
I'm only here cause my ancestor picked the cotton for your clothes.
So you should give a nigga what he owe.
I start with the secretary handling your claims.
Throw away your message if the paper's too plain.
Pencil is the skirt, Chanel is the set.
Shoes match the frames and the frames look French.
God, get a load of the irony.
Describe raps to you minus the psych degree and pills.
If I only had the mills, crib, brown skin shorty with the hips flex.
Shake it up with my secretary.
Shake it up with the secretary.
It sounds nice.
