From the start of things, I thought it was cool
We both had similar viewpoints about school
Millionaire dropouts
Them checks became our diplomas
Our graduation shit was at the bank
Them bus rides turned to six figure whips
Them cold winters turned to private island trips
Free lunches, to luxury dinners at penthouses
Now we tapping pilots on shoulders, telling 'em to re-route us
Family stayed close
Shit got deep
Feeling lonely and depressed
Had to cry myself to sleep
All the money in the world, couldn't heal my wounds
Imprisoned in my mind, locked myself inside my room
Doing ten records daily
For months, that was
No faith in myself
Not sure who I was
How could I win going against the World
Plus I'm a dog, I feel bad for my unborn girl
Damn
I was in them streets running wild
But never raw-dogging, I ain't wanna have a child
If my mama's basement walls could talk
Shit
They would say I was a motherf*ckin' mack like that
Had them all from white, asian, black, short and tall
When they nigga got to trippin', I was the one they would call
Hated groupie women, they never got my attention
They was out here burning my niggas with no intentions
Ew
Feeling the breeze, with palm trees
Blowing good weed
In Miami with foreign bitches with mad cheese
Stayed cashing me out
How the f*ck you think I stayed fresh
I kept them laughing and my dicks the best
Super humble, yet a cocky nigga
Gift of Gab
Talk a bitch right out her pants
But I got tired of them hoes, and got tired of being petty
So I dialed your number up and respectfully said I'm ready
Moschino Jones - MILLIONAIRE DROPOUTS (feat. prod.myles) Lyrics
Moschino Jones - MILLIONAIRE DROPOUTS (feat. prod.myles) Lyrics
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From the start of things, I thought it was cool
We both had similar viewpoints about school
Millionaire dropouts
Them checks became our diplomas
Our graduation shit was at the bank
Them bus rides turned to six figure whips
Them cold winters turned to private island trips
Free lunches, to luxury dinners at penthouses
Now we tapping pilots on shoulders, telling 'em to re-route us
Family stayed close
Shit got deep
Feeling lonely and depressed
Had to cry myself to sleep
All the money in the world, couldn't heal my wounds
Imprisoned in my mind, locked myself inside my room
Doing ten records daily
For months, that was
No faith in myself
Not sure who I was
How could I win going against the World
Plus I'm a dog, I feel bad for my unborn girl
Damn
I was in them streets running wild
But never raw-dogging, I ain't wanna have a child
If my mama's basement walls could talk
Shit
They would say I was a motherf*ckin' mack like that
Had them all from white, asian, black, short and tall
When they nigga got to trippin', I was the one they would call
Hated groupie women, they never got my attention
They was out here burning my niggas with no intentions
Ew
Feeling the breeze, with palm trees
Blowing good weed
In Miami with foreign bitches with mad cheese
Stayed cashing me out
How the f*ck you think I stayed fresh
I kept them laughing and my dicks the best
Super humble, yet a cocky nigga
Gift of Gab
Talk a bitch right out her pants
But I got tired of them hoes, and got tired of being petty
So I dialed your number up and respectfully said I'm ready
We both had similar viewpoints about school
Millionaire dropouts
Them checks became our diplomas
Our graduation shit was at the bank
Them bus rides turned to six figure whips
Them cold winters turned to private island trips
Free lunches, to luxury dinners at penthouses
Now we tapping pilots on shoulders, telling 'em to re-route us
Family stayed close
Shit got deep
Feeling lonely and depressed
Had to cry myself to sleep
All the money in the world, couldn't heal my wounds
Imprisoned in my mind, locked myself inside my room
Doing ten records daily
For months, that was
No faith in myself
Not sure who I was
How could I win going against the World
Plus I'm a dog, I feel bad for my unborn girl
Damn
I was in them streets running wild
But never raw-dogging, I ain't wanna have a child
If my mama's basement walls could talk
Shit
They would say I was a motherf*ckin' mack like that
Had them all from white, asian, black, short and tall
When they nigga got to trippin', I was the one they would call
Hated groupie women, they never got my attention
They was out here burning my niggas with no intentions
Ew
Feeling the breeze, with palm trees
Blowing good weed
In Miami with foreign bitches with mad cheese
Stayed cashing me out
How the f*ck you think I stayed fresh
I kept them laughing and my dicks the best
Super humble, yet a cocky nigga
Gift of Gab
Talk a bitch right out her pants
But I got tired of them hoes, and got tired of being petty
So I dialed your number up and respectfully said I'm ready
Writer: Quincy Hall
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid