I just wanna be…
I just wanna be…
I wanna be the richest alive.
I wanna be the richest alive.
Don’t be trickin,
You girl got me thinkin.
Forgive and forget,
My word of the day is respect.
Bigga star I’m da man,
Trappa reality is the plan.
Chillin’ wit my ladies,
I hustle dem babies.
Call dis a rap poem thang,
Just doin this is dat sang.
I am da man fo real yo,
Cuz I’ll be the one foe!
Choose me or don’t,
I don’t really care, Nah I won’t.
Just can I be the baller?
Maybe I wanna be taller.
Cuz dem girls my own,
I bring dem to da crib my home.
Trappa singer man Y’all,
But I hustle what do ya call?
I am hustlin every day,
Each and every way.
I am the truth trust me,
I do this poem truthfully.
Call dis a song, rap poem,
I need this to be at da top.
Mula baby! I wanna be richest alive!
Dem dough stacked really high.
Dreamin of what I’ll be in da future,
My deep and cruel past is a torture.
But don’t be confused by this,
I am bein so very honest.
Bout me now ya see?
I wanna be a rich baby!
Don’t call it fame,
Hustle to da top my true game.
I just ball in a team,
Call it Katz JCC.
Dey be my homies,
I wanna be covered in Benjis.
Young mula is my rise,
So what? Y’all wanna see wit yo eyes?
Truthteller I must be forever,
I hear no evil, see no evil Helen Keller.
I am who I am its reality,
A truth teller I must be.
No lying is my hustle,
Y’all see me and I tell ya.
Lookin at me I wanna be the richest,
I wanna be in Reader’s Digest.
Ballin is my rise to fame,
Hustle till I die, Y’all know my name.
Wit a future like mine,
It’s almost screwed all the time.
I am tellin the truth,
Stackin Madisons to da roof.
Hustle flow,
Be like me and now Y’all know.
Poetry
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