But it's too late it's too late You sweat her and I ain't talkin 'bout a Coogi You a big L and I ain't talkin 'bout Cool J See me at the airport at least 20 Louis Treat me like the Prince and this my sweet brother Numpsay BROTHER NUMPSAY Groupies sound too choosy Take 'em to the show and talk all through the movies Says she want diamonds I took her to Ruby Tuesdays If we up in Friday's I still have it my way Too late we gone we strivin home Gone we ride on chrome It's too late Y'all don't want no prob from me What you rappers could get is a job from me Maybe you could be my intern and in turn I'll show you how I cook up summer in the win turr Aaron love the raw dog when will he learn Caught somethin on the Usher tour he had to Let it Burn Plus he already got three chil'run Arguin over babysitters like b***h it's yo' turn D**n 'Ye it'd be stupid to ditch you Even your superficial raps is super official R R R Roc pastel with Gucci on With TV's in the ride throw a movie on Said he couldn't rap now he at the top with doobie long Cause the dookie's on any song that they threw me on gone We strivin home gone I ride on chrome We strivin home gone Killa I ride on chrome Knock knock who's there Killa Cam Killa who Killa Cam hustler grinder gorilla true Oh my chinchilla blue blue you ever dealt with a dealer Well here's the deal ma we goin to the No concealin no ceiling I don't need a roof Act up get out I don't need you poof Poof be gone d**n tough luck dag Dag n***az still doin puff puff pass Pull the truck up fast and I tell 'em Hey back in a touched up Jag s**t Y'all n***az want Killa Cam cerebellum An old man just gon' tell 'em Too late he gone Then I see how y'all gonna react when I'm Gone My last girl want me back then I'm on Fine stay you got the grind hey Came back read what the sign say Too late he gone Yes I know you wanna see my demise Yeah you church boy actin like a thief in disguise Ain't leavin my side see the greed in my eyes Ask Abby y'all hustle for a week to the Chi s**t And that ain't leavin alive please believe me Gave Weezy a piece of the pie and You can ask George or Regina The whole Westside I explore with the Beemer now We strivin home I ride on chrome Listen homeboy move on That's your best bet why's that Cause Uhh uhh yo yo I been pourin out some liquor for the fact that my pal's gone And tryin to help his momma with the fact that her child gone And since we used to bubble like a tub full of Calgon Guess it's only right that I should help her from now on But since they got a foul on what coulda gone wrong Now they askin Cons how long has this gone on And maybe all this money mighta gone to my head Cause they got me thinkin money mighta gone to the feds So I ain't goin to the dread but he'll go on up to bed And when I came the next mornin he was gone with my bread And with that bein said I had gone on my instincts And gone to the spots where they go to get mixed drinks But lookin back now shoulda gone to the crib And rented Gone With the Wind cause I'da gone about 10 But I had gone with my friend and we had gone to the bar And heard a n***a talkin s**t so I had gone to the car And now the judge is tellin me that I had gone too far And now we gone for 20 years doin time behind bars And since I gone to a cell for some cruddy crimes I guess I gone to the well one too many times cause I'm gone Uh uh uh Uh uh uh uh uh onnn uh uh uh onnn Uh uh onnn uh uh uh I'mmmm Ah head of my time sometimes years out So the powers that be won't let me get my ideas out And that make me wanna get my advance out And move to Oklahoma and just live at my Aunt's house Yeah I romance the thought of leavin it all behind Kanye step away from the lime Light like when I was on the grind In the One Nine Nine Nine Before model chicks was bendin over or Dealerships asked me Benz or Rover man If I could just get one beat on Hova We could get up off this cheap a*s sofa What the summer of the Chi got to offer an 18 year old Sell d**gs or get a job you gotta play gyro My dawg worked at Taco Bell hooked us up plural fied A week later the manager count the churros