I finished my first full song...
 

yo i just laid down my first track.. heres the lyrics (some words have been changed during the recording sessions)

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it's on a 5 dollar mic so it don't sound as good as it should, but tell me how you like it ;o! parental advisory

real niggas on a paper chase,
make bank, take it to the bank,
pull a thou out, and pull a skank
dough stacks like bakeries,
ya'll niggas wearin pink like gizer batteries,
pussy is pussy, dough is dough
can't hustle a hustler, everybody knows
it all comes and goes
all g's put ya glasses up,
and all hoes put ya asses up,
get ready to get fucked
moneys twisted like cheetos,
get murked for the she know and he know,
money tall like debo,
lightin blunts with c-notes,
air forces and p-coats,
pullin the dough is a habit,
gotta get it, gotta have it
tits hips and gamblin,
pullin the cards like gambit,
makin money like a savage,
what you want you gotta grab it,
green from trees, the weeds all packaged

i'm passed around, been up noses,
cokes dried to my skin, dubs like moses
i can put you in a benz or the bus,
get you into situations and out of handcuffs,
in god we trust tattoo'd to my chest,
times with me are some of the best,
showed you who your true niggas are,
who to lay to rest
represented by presidents, stashed in mattresses
and in socks next to the glocks
i feed your bad habits, got ya wearin ya new watch,
come hundo deep or solo when we hop
girls see me and drop it like it's hot
turn boys to men like motown,
i'm always there with beef goes down,
the whole round, trick try to steal me
lay the hoe down
come fast make you slow down
i be livin on niggas heads til they dead,
less problems with cops than the feds,
i always stay runnin from the chases,
who am i? money makin.

gotta make that paper,
it's the only lifestyle i know,
stay that way till my names on stone,
my hearts cold like the home of a eskimo,
the game is gummy,
it ain't funny but the money keep us laughin yall
r.i.p. mac dre and all of ya'll,
the good die young, the old die slow,
pussy niggas regret they lives, we already know
can't stop what i'm doin or where i gotta go
i was sent to the fork in the road,
with a hand on my dick and a microphone,
turn your bowls to ashes, and flesh to bones,
my mind is blurred, my feet move for me,
rather be dead than not made by the age of forty,
pour out a forty for all the money makers,
who's been lowered like the points of the lakers
fuck the fakers, stay on ya hustle,
or else be another broke motherfucka,