My 1st Chemistry Set blocks, Chemist
Cook up yeah
Finished with this last hundred thou'
Through the money counter
Movin' the bag and I'm runnin'
Out in record timin'
Geneva band bright, with excessive diamonds
All you can move is puppy chow
And New England clam chowder
You mismatchin' designers, I'm V12 and Impala
And V12's and problems
And never had a license
As I multiply and divide addin' money
I never paid attention in class
Except for math and science
Live in the lap of lux
Smokin' on Cali's finest
These niggas so puss you'd have
Thought that they had vaginas
That's why we clap 'em up, ten packs
Bloodclot 'em i got ninety nine problems and
A brick ain't one i got thirty five shots
Yeah the clip that dumb
And my handgun it look retarded as a chopper
We built this from the ground up
Started from the bottom
It's Concreatures, game time
Money ain't a problem

Pocket full of stacks
I had to take into consideration
That when you gettin' money
Ain't no limitation
To what niggas'll do to get
They hands on this paper (better tell 'em)
Have my critters come and
Lay down that demonstration 187
Cause niggas hate it when you
Get they bitches naked (bold)
And your chain made out of
A bunch of tennis bracelets (cold)
And your closet full of fresh
Put one in the sky (do it)
We're talking nothing but the best
That money can buy

I got real expensive taste and
I live an extravagant lifestyle
My left pocket: six G's
The other one: ten bands
And my watch on Swizz Beatz: I'm
The one man band man
Four in my right palm, two in my left hand
In the back of the club doin' the band dance
All around the board, I was born in the USA
Guess you could say this
An American Band Stand
Three hundred eighties got my man jammed
Now it's meet me at the
Little Caesars my baby i got them pan pans
Half assed think you slick
With a bag full of tricks
While you try'na penny pinch
I'm try'na cram jam twenty two grand in my
True Religion brand pants
I sold a hundred grams
That's another ten bands
Put a one on it, that's an extra ten grams
I cook so much dope, I need two wristbands
And I ball so hard, I need a headband
It's Concreatures till I'm dead or
In the fed pen

Copyright: BMG Rights Management, Royalty Network
Writer(s): Alan Maman, James Jones