"Grand Piano" lyrics

Cookin' Soul
Jet Life, Jet Life, Jet Life
The Legend of Harvard Blue
As I come through

Uh, play connect the dots in the parking lot with them drops
How many of them cars that you niggas rap about do you really got?
Fugazi artists, y'all so easy to spot from my rooftop party
Where you is not, invite only not for phonies
Bumbling henchmen, lackies, cronies, jabronies
Where only bosses is all my homies
Carrying they own weight, nobody leaning on me
Reach up and got a plate, steak with the seasoning on it
I was hunting while you was sleeping
When you woke up you had to watch me eating
Don't get mad now
Wish you woulda got up off your ass, huh?

Jet Life, Jet Life, Jet Life
The Legend of Harvard Blue
Every time I come through
Yeah

Stacks is the mission, cash is the target
Jets locked in, heat seeking missiles on it
Make lunch quick out of fools who was once opponents
[?] for ever running up on them
Made men known for laying Pirelli rubbers on the pavement
Italian cars, California weed
Just a New Orleans boy who never quit on his dreams