Uh, nigga, ya gutted, ya paper on a budget
Ya ain't got a pot to piss in, no bucket
You niggas caught ass on bets ya can't cover
Ya homie got bread, huh, but you dead luggage
Tommy Tucker, neighborhood sucker
Ya baby mama duck ya, bitches won't fuck ya
Ya petty thief, ya neighbors don't trust ya
Better stay out them peoples' stores 'fore the cops cuff ya
David Ruffin, Eddie King puffer
Nights like this, ya wish for bread and butter
Raindrops fall on your head with no umbrella
Fella, eh, ya broke, ya busted, ya gutted
Ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You talk about that bread but ya bread ain't buttered
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, uh, uh, ya gutted
You talking Ace of Spades but you balling on a budget
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You see us V.I.P., gold bottles in them buckets
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
When the Roc Boys in the house, open bar, we got it covered
Uh, bitch, ya gutted, ya whole twist fucked up
Ya knees stay scuffed up from sucking that nut up
Just to get a buck to get ya hair did done up
Ya manicure refilled, them bare feet cheap heels
Or them dollar store Chinese slippers
Ya weave track slipping, kitchen full of dishes
House full of Bebe kids, stay shitting
Baby bottle empty, ya WIC check missing
You rock Gucci this and that, but ya kids bummy
You letting strangers claim 'em for income tax money
You need a whole foot in yo' ass, that shit you pulling
You weekend looker, you Tarjay hooker, ya gutted
Ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You talk about that bread but ya bread ain't buttered
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, uh, uh, ya gutted
You talking Ace of Spades but you balling on a budget
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You see us V.I.P., gold bottles in them buckets
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
When the Roc Boys in the house, open bar, we got it covered
You just gon' fake it 'til you make it, huh?
Rented houses on MTV, you taping 'em
Fine hoes in your videos, you draped in 'em
Green screens in the projects, you safe in 'em
Fine cars in your videos, you pay for them?
Shit, I can't knock your hustle though, you make it fun
Dear rappers, you've been fooling the public
People start to think y'all real and do something
See, and we do when niggas do two hunnid
And talk like they platinum to us, but you snuff 'em
Back to life, you're not reality
Your salary is like celery
We eating over here, nigga, you like salad to me
Get your weight up, get your steak up
Those little acres, get your estate up
And face us, you gonna need an Allen
It's Imaginary Players, tape two thousand, ya gutted
Ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You talk about that bread but ya bread ain't buttered
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, uh, uh, ya gutted
You talking Ace of Spades but you balling on a budget
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You see us V.I.P., gold bottles in them buckets
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
When the Roc Boys in the house, open bar, we got it covered
Ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You talkin' 'bout that bread but ya bread ain't buttered
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, uh, uh, ya gutted
You talking Ace of Spades but you balling on a budget
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
You see us V.I.P., gold bottles in them buckets
Yeah, yeah, ya gutted, yeah, yeah, ya gutted
When the Roc Boys in the house, open bar, we got it covered
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