Music Video

8Ball and MJG feat. Lloyd - Forever
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
8Ball
8Ball
Vocals
Lloyd
Lloyd
Vocals
MJG
MJG
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Lloyd Polite
Lloyd Polite
Songwriter
Marlon Goodwin
Marlon Goodwin
Songwriter
Premro Smith
Premro Smith
Songwriter
Shondrae Crawford
Shondrae Crawford
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Bangladesh
Bangladesh
Producer
Chris Athens
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer
John Frye
John Frye
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

Ooh la la bangladesh. Heyyy... See a nigga like me gonna get money til I get rich Ride with a couple hundred G's in a biscuit Stay down for whatever forever hustle wit my misfit holmes And soon you gonna see just how crunk this shit be once we get rich Til then its back to hustlin with my misfits Deep, on a creep, fifty zones tucked under the brougham. Fifty zones tucked under the brougham I keep a big old nigga beater heater Its in the trunk of my four-door and my two seater Im make them say skeeter skeeter Keep up and grab the ball back just like I'm Derek Jeter I know you want to fuck my ho but you too scared to meet her See you ain't got enough bread to even start to treat her The way a pimp did, and in the bed I'm even sweeter I hustle, I got more Franklins in me than Aretha If I had Oprah Winfrey I would marry her and keep her I spit as much knowlege as preachers and teachers Just as long as the message reach us we all fill up the bleachers I'm the MJG, I get in yo' shit I ain't trying to run yo' clique, that be your friend so quick Come on, where my money, let me hit the stage Fuck them long interviews, just give us the front page Black G apostrophe S us, forever bust Them lyrics that make the people say that he got nuts Yeah man. Sticky weed kickin in, big Ball steppin in Straight flying when I hustle, thats how I represent Bounce, if you feelin what I'm spitting up in your ear hole I been rocking mics since I was 17 years old Smoking up, drinking up, kicking dust, and fucking up Everybody want a piece and we ain't got enough for us Yeah, I touched a brick or two, pounds I done smoked a few Got my bread and didn't do what the fuck I was supposed to do Money blinds players, turns them into evil spirits I try to give it to them just how it come to me Real and unedited, not like it be on TV Be myself and dont be what those haters want me to be Take the good the bad hit my knees set me free Make the bad good, put that on my leather and wood Cinderella with my fellas deep off in the hood Nigga You need to stop sticking your hand out and trying to fold it Turn around the broom handle and trying to hold it It's plenty dirt to be swept, and leaves to be raked Now you need to leave from my face, take heed to mistake That you just made, thinking a player could get played Thinking that a rapper could get wrapped and phone tapped My whole life I learned the hard way to spot liars And it seems like its usually the ones thats right by ya FIRE! Jumping up out the tip with pistols sittin up Fuck me? Watch my gun skeet like its bussing nuts 'Cept when it hit your cheek it burn then it split your cheek Then come out the back of your head, now your just a memory Graphic how I got it illustrated, rated triple X Niggas want to be the king, I dont give a fuck who's best Just watch your mouth, talkin down in the south I'm gonna let my nuts hang and start punching clowns out
Writer(s): Marlon Goodwin, Shondrae Crawford, Lloyd, Premro Vonzellaire Smith Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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