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yg – how 2 make it in america lyrics

how 2 make it in america
(feat. mac miller)

[verse 1: yg]
okay my name yg and i came to play
f-ck, then i bust a nut, n i aim her face
yeah i’m a real n-gg-, i ain’t got time to fake
the glock like a fan, ha blow ya mind away
i’m on my grind told my momma f-ck a 9-5
i get money f-ck b-tches that’s my alibi
i’m laughing in ya b-tches p-ssy like hahahahahaha
but anyways i’m getting paid, yeah i get it how i’m living
treat the game like a spider in my house, i gotta get her
okay big d-ck bandit, yeah ya b-tch know
we outside smokin that indo, and my momma bends em, an my momma bends them
i’m a keep young n-gg-, n my momma frenso
give her a bottle of cirroc, n her [?] peeled
n if she ain’t f-ckin throw her out the windshield

[hook:]
real n-gg-, real n-gg-, i ain’t ever lie
change hoes like channels got these b-tches televised
here that n-gg- puff puff, now that n-gg- h-lla high
an i can show you how to make it in america
how ya ride, how ya ride, on 24 inches
hotel room we keep 24 b-tches, yup this how i’m living
n-gg- ya never change the price, living fast [?]

[verse 2: mac miller]
uh, a 100 thousand in the briefcase, like i won a sweepstakes
party with aristocratic b-tches bring the cheese plate
i really am this, and it just seem great
weight of the world on my shoulders till my knees break
give em’ e pills, tell em be still
i got them donuts for ya n they cream filled
got them expensive flows and extensive flows
designer brands that you never own, a second phone that i’m never on
eating filetminone from her resturaunt
and that’s p-ssy, and i prefer money
yeah it’s mac miller yg fo hunnid
so hit my up with that dutch to split
you mad that lil white boy f-cked ya b-tch
never time ya better cuff yo chick, cause she ain’t ever gonna get enough of this

[hook]

[verse 3: yg]
okay i’m riding threw the city with the top down
that’s the first day of summer n-gg-s hot now
i got bars that put you on lockdown
this ain’t the weight room but my n-gg-s got pounds
i hit the block then i bounce
she a young n-gg- gon’, just get yo b-tch quit blowing up my phone
what the f-ck is going on, tell that b-tch leave me alone
she only good when my whipper in her thong
okay i meet a b-tch, beat a b-tch
f-cked her then i leave a b-tch
f-cked her with the lights off she ain’t even see the d-ck
n if she looked bad you know i’m a eat a b-tch
now she all on a n-gg- like cheetah print
i’m on mars n my flow on jupiter, wrist go dumb but my chain go stupider
i’m the sh-t b-tch i have yo n-gg-s stupider
now heavenly father please protect me from lucifer

[hook]

- yg lyrics

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