Song parody of
WAY PAST LUCK
by DJ Khaled
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Whoa, whoa (We The Best Music)
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, whoa, whoa (another one, DJ Khaled)
I got fake friends givin' me hugs
I got record labels givin' me dubs
You can't book me at clubs
Police hate me, white fans show me love
I just gave away bikes with a judge
I grew up in the mud
Legal money, I got rich from workin'
I give back to my hood on purpose
When you make it to the top, you know them rumors gon' surface
Know you talk behind my back 'cause your ass always be nervous
Everything private on the jet, we got curtains (uh)
Thirty thousand feet and this bitch bust out twerkin'
I ain't from New Orleans, but I know that you heard me
I don't play tennis, but the models, they serve me
Feel like I'm that nigga, but plenty women done curved me
Know my worth, I gave myself that many women didn't deserve me
Trusted you, gave you my heart, and you did nothin' but hurt me
But one thing 'bout them tables, they just don't stop turning
One thing 'bout them tables, they just don't stop
Yeah, one thing 'bout this money, it just won't stop
Heart inside the trenches, I can't go pop
We make street records and they go pop
Still stand on business even though I'm rich
Niggas out of pocket, grab the pool stick
She don't get her purse, then she gon' throw a fit
But she ride me like a rodeo, no bullshit
I own a lot of homes, I got good deeds
Dottin' all my i's and crossin' all my t's
Lookin' at my children, all I see is me
You know it's different when you responsible for how somebody breathe
Make sure that they eat 'cause I'm a hustler
I don't believe in ghosts, but he's a buster
Top shotta, the streets know how many niggas we done roughed up
Ferrari one-point-two, remember ridin' in a pluck-pluck
Forty million a year, this shit right here way past lucked up
Whoa, whoa (We The Best Music)
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, whoa, whoa (another one, DJ Khaled)
I got fake friends givin' me hugs
I got record labels givin' me dubs
You can't book me at clubs
Police hate me, white fans show me love
I just gave away bikes with a judge
I grew up in the mud
Legal money, I got rich from workin'
I give back to my hood on purpose
When you make it to the top, you know them rumors gon' surface
Know you talk behind my back 'cause your ass always be nervous
Everything private on the jet, we got curtains (uh)
Thirty thousand feet and this bitch bust out twerkin'
I ain't from New Orleans, but I know that you heard me
I don't play tennis, but the models, they serve me
Feel like I'm that nigga, but plenty women done curved me
Know my worth, I gave myself that many women didn't deserve me
Trusted you, gave you my heart, and you did nothin' but hurt me
But one thing 'bout them tables, they just don't stop turning
One thing 'bout them tables, they just don't stop
Yeah, one thing 'bout this money, it just won't stop
Heart inside the trenches, I can't go pop
We make street records and they go pop
Still stand on business even though I'm rich
Niggas out of pocket, grab the pool stick
She don't get her purse, then she gon' throw a fit
But she ride me like a rodeo, no bullshit
I own a lot of homes, I got good deeds
Dottin' all my i's and crossin' all my t's
Lookin' at my children, all I see is me
You know it's different when you responsible for how somebody breathe
Make sure that they eat 'cause I'm a hustler
I don't believe in ghosts, but he's a buster
Top shotta, the streets know how many niggas we done roughed up
Ferrari one-point-two, remember ridin' in a pluck-pluck
Forty million a year, this shit right here way past lucked up
