Pocket Full of Beans (Remix) Lyrics Rome Streetz
Yeah
Never in your ***’ life
Look
Ayy, yo
In the bank, makin’ deposits (Uh-huh)
I was just sellin’ crank in the projects (I was)
Now I get Franks rippin’ a concert (Uh-huh)
Broke, ’cause you niggas ain’t poppin’ (Hahaha!)
A *** took a risk and I prospered
Got plenty in the pot, many options, bigger horizons (Yeah)
My ***, I’m risin’, big Benz what I arrived in
Bad *** drivin’, fly king (Uh-huh)
Pay homage, sellin’ beige product
Got to chase profit, tailor-made garments (Yeah)
Every *** that I lay a goddess (Yeah)
I been ’bout it, ’bout it, ain’t no way around it (Nah)
Every day I’m countin’ plenty pay
Was drownin’ in the street, mommy pray I make it out it
Started with a stone, then I made a mountain (I did)
On my own, plenty haters doubt it
Got th_ pay and power, ain’t respectin’ cowards (Nah)
Know th_ world is ours, that’s obvious (Yeah)
Without this rap ***, I’d be lit (Uh-huh)
Plenty dirty cash you’ll see papi with (Work)
All you niggas squares like a floppy disk (Haha)
Unoriginal carbon copy ***
But you bum ass niggas could not be this (You niggas washed!)
I had to rise, my eyes seen lots of ***
Millionaire dreams (Yeah), money’s what I need (Yeah)
Phone full of fiends (Yeah), pocket full of beans (Yeah)
Mind full of schemes (Yeah), pistol in my jeans (Bah! Bah!)
Christian Dior clean (Uh-huh)
Bet on myself, it’s a sure thing (Yeah)
Win after win, I need more rings (Yeah)
Me and my niggas, we all Kings (Yeah)
Pushin’ big body foreigns
Millionaire dreams (Yeah), money’s what I need (Yeah)
Phone full of fiends (Yeah), pocket full of beans (Yeah)
Mind full of schemes (Yeah), pistol in my jeans (Bah! Bah!)
Christian Dior clean (Yeah)
Bet on myself, it’s a sure thing (Uh-huh)
Win after win, I need more rings (Yeah)
Me and my niggas, we all Kings (Yeah)
Pushin’ big body foreigns (Woah)
Dig up yo’ grave, *** on your ashes
Whole lot of passion but zero compassion
Uppin’ in fashion, lowkey sociopathic
Spin the block, this a “*** a cop and grip on your pistol” anthem
Give ’em hell, give them shells
Give them more, and give them caskets
***’- *Gunshot*
Spit on my enemy’s grave, mhm
Blood drippin’ on my blade, mhm
I guess yo’ momma didn’t pray for you
She *** me like that’s what she made to do
Acid, acid, [and an air ?] for shroom
My automatic got a laser, too
Aim and shoot, Mercedes coupe
*** drippin’ and it’s flavorful
Pistol grippin’ and the aim is cool
Click-click, bang-bang, and boom
It’s hard to get a bloodstain removed
[Verse 3: Zombie Juice]
Couple loccs with me, and I’m back in [?]
Dirty with the beam, I ain’t hittin’ [?]
Sturdy on the beam, [?] in two
With the hood [?] like I’m supposed to do
Pocket full of stones, big pimp Juice
Diamonds in my mouth, got a *** choose-y
Might drape her down, she has a real booty
Steady work the [blaze?], she gon’ stick to it
Countin’ dirty money, got a *** to it
All I know is pain, kinda used to it
Niggas at the Grammys, I’m in the crib trappin’
*** on my mind, I think I need relaxin’
Look him in his eyes, I can tell he cappin’
See you in Hell when my casket drop
*** ’em all, *** ’em all, and your mom and pops
Like, how could I go broke but [hundreds of *** ?]
Plus songs I wrote
What y’all niggas [hope?]
In the cut like I’m bloody, and you niggas [?]
Rome Streetz in this ***, thought y’all niggas knew
Flatbush Ave in the buildin’
Probably knew you but we gods to this ***
Got the work to prove, like
Millionaire dreams, money’s what I need
Phone full of fiends, pocket full of beans
Mind full of schemes, pistol in my jeans
Christian Dior clean
Bet on myself, that’s a sure thing
Win after win, I need more rings
Me and my niggas, we all Kings
Pushin’ big body foreigns