Armoire Lyrics - The Stoned Immaculate - Curren$y

For Cuban linx 

Yellow gold, January cold, my mink 

I'm from the the school of old, check out my ring 

I won a super bowl of hash,I saw the Mona Lisa blink 

Not falling off my ass 

Cause I lean like the Tower of Pisa on stained glass 

At the church, funeral services for this beat 

Niggas tryna steal my style, I can hear 'em in my sleep 

Like young thieves outside tryna break in your Z 

28 or your Double S, they hit your Trans-Am 

For your big nose hood and you know them fools man 

And I swear that ain't no good, but I'm not surprised 

Cause it's all fair in the game 

Of fucking these bitches due to your street fame 

This shit's wicked, deserves a documentary 

Deadstocks on my feet, I'm walking ancient history 

Niggas is beast hype, tryna be like what we write 

Ain't nothing but that Jet Life 

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I'm talking stacks in the walls, floors, ceilings 

A house made of money, feel what I'm building 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

I'm talking pounds in the fridge, hundred stack in the armoire 

Constant reminders of what the fuck we grind for 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

Still at it, Jet Set mathematics 

I'm, from the city of choppers clappers and levee crackage 

All levels completed, bitch I'm All-Madden 

Smoking out the E-Class wagon 

It's just that "to the airport" action, I am more Mr. 2 Door 

Still running triple O game on my new hoes 

More than one time was I told that I was too cold 

Gucci Mane, tryna be grizzly burr on these hoes 

Foundation laid, and from that, a mansion rose 

When my driver bring yo bitches home, ask her how that Caddy roll 

You can tell that she was with daddy, just smell her clothes 

Money and smoke, that's all I know 

Photos 

I'm talking stacks in the walls, floors, ceilings 

A house made of money, feel what I'm building 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

I'm talking pounds in the fridge, hundred stack in the armoire 

Constant reminders of what the fuck we grind for 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing) 

(Cause this rap shit just my hustle baby, we paper chasing)