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Song title: Gonzoe - Got It Made

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[gonzoe] (talking)
Uh-oh, (uh-oh) here it go again (here it go)
Oh fuck! (oh shit) shit, shake that shit bitch
Huh, (yeah) yeah, its me, gonzoe
Came to rock you mother fuckers right quick
You know what Im sayin? kick that thesoline
Know what Im sayin

[verse 1 - gonzoe]
Nigga, Im tryin to have it made
Fuckin with mink and suede
Hoppin out of jags on niggaz
When me shit parfait
Like livarache
Hoe, smell the heats of meakee
Im too cocky
My lifes too rocky
So fuck yall
Nigga pissy off with me
You separate all
It means nothin
I talk your bitch out the drawls
For the fuck of it
And turp off bumpin
Its in the shed
Bounce to this
Cause you feelin it
Respect me killin it nigga
Imma be that rich cat
Tell them niggaz where I hold my chips and whips at
Im a young nigga never found guilty
Clean as fuck but still filthy
Workers on the corners tryin to milk me
For knowledge
Like damn! you smashin in college?
Big ass glots and keepin dollars
Dont bother choppin work no more
I hit the liquor store
Relax with a glass of conyac and smoke
Nigga

[chorus - gonzoe]
I got it made! (got it made)
Fuckin with mink and suede (mink and suede)
All my pieces par made
Bitch, Im doin this shit my way (my way)
Bitch, all us niggaz we got it made
Im paid, fuckin with mink and suede
Hoppin out of jags on niggaz (us)
When me shit bumpay
Like liverache
Hoe, smell the heats of meakee (hoe)
Im too cocky
My ice too rocky
So fuck yall

[verse 2 - gonzoe]
Uh, its too much money to me
Yall niggaz is actin fake
Playa-hatin, talkin up on my shit like ricki lake
Comin chilis for hoes
Why you lyin bout who you know?
Stay broke, never got no ervails on the smoke, lock the timmy
Foo, you killin me, actin phony
Sittin on your cake with a round of homies, youre pretty tony
Gettin worked, cochberts, versace, domeinberg
What you bought is what she wear when she go do dirt
The truth hurt
All the same
With no backs to claim
But you slept because it was all part of the game

Chorus

[verse 3 - gonzoe]
Yeah, yall niggaz cant touch me
Im spotless, you dusty
My pistol crusty
All the niggaz I wet
They all trust me
Till the federals bust me
Out for the dusty
Gangsta like bugsy
Livin lavish up in luxury
The bombay, mr.icicle
Come swallow the pickle
Us dons all stressed and rippled
It aint a thing
Tryin to find this game man
Stack up for the drought
Cause one day its gonna rain
In big drops
Cop, blind side of my cyclops
As it bubble, I watch the pattern transform
To rocks nigga, going to glocks, money in stacks
Cause he got this, and I got that (what)