Make This Bread - Intellectual

[Hook]

Hey Mr. Fred, we almost dead

Make this bread or make your bed

Take this ride or take this wheel

Take your time or take this pill

I’m hoppin’ out the casket, cocaine on my glasses

Some all white buffies that I picked up on my last trip

Them niggas is yaggin’, too much into fashion

My body guard a beast, and if you reach then he spazzin’

That rat-tat-tat action, them lights, camera

I’m like the Dodge dealership, I got a lot of challengers

Damn this shit remind me of my dogs

I was on a paper mission, get it all

Marriani to the drawers, what’s up?

I went to school but never went to school ‘cause I was busy on tour

‘Cause where we live a nigga only as good as his credit card score

A-1, I shipped a box of them new iPhones straight to my home

Two to my dome, can’t feel my eyes

Can’t feel my bones, you not alone

When I seen it, I want it, I need it

Unlimited Visas, my heart in the freezer

I’m on it, you niggas is lacking

Napping, you loafing, you lacking the focus

My Spanish bitch that I’m with

I’m smashing, I’m stroking, with passion, devotion

That money come, and that money stay

If you fuck her good, she won’t run away

I’m golded up like Gabby Douglas

My necklace, chasing the sun away

My old niggas still Caddy truckin’

I’mma wait for that Aston truck

My Boonie hittas is savage, bruh

Get jammed out in that traffic, cuz

I’m cashin’ out and I’m stackin’ up

Your girl pussy is trash as fuck

I never talk shit about a teammate

We goin’ Bobby for a pocket full of green face

When I die I’ll be reborn with a clean slate

And RIP to the weed that we cremate