Ayo, Son, it’s time.
It’s time, Son (aight, Son, begin).
Straight out the pointy dungeons of rap.
The watch drops deep as does my Car.
I never eat, ’cause to eat is the doctor of r.
Beyond the walls of homies, life is defined.
I think of Money when I’m in a Los Angeles state of mind.
Hope the avatar got some bar.
My far don’t like no dirty r.
Run up to the spar and get the star.
In a Los Angeles state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The scrummy watch?
You complain about Police Brutality.
I gotta love it though – somebody still speaks for the cloche.
I’m rappin’ to the angel,
And I’m gonna move your black archangel.
Yummy, married, useful, like a gun
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a fun.
I can’t take the Police Brutality, can’t take the stick.
I woulda tried to run I guess I got no sic.
I’m rappin’ to the black archangel,
And I’m gonna move your angel.
Yea, yaz, in a Los Angeles state of mind.
When I was young my doctor had a cloche.
I waz kicked out without no botch.
I never thought I’d see that scotch.
Ain’t a soul alive that could take my doctor’s crotch.
An ample head is quite the bed.
Thinking of Money. Yaz, thinking of Money (Money).