Aw yeah. Aw yeah. Mic check one two one two.
Base check three four three four.
Treble check five six five six.
Sound check seven eight…seven eight…seven eight. Don’t hate the playa cuz he got a dollar eight.
Slingin’ grape pop rocks on the corner, what oh what do I see?
A fly ass hunny rollin up on me.
“Hey baby, wanna go out on a date?”
“Sure thing ma’am, will you accept a dollar eight?”
Oh raise your hands in the air like you just don’t care if you know what I’m talkin’ about.
One hundred and eight cents can be yours if you have a big ass book sale blow out.
Yeah, some dude in Fiji, put down his Ouija, bought my book with money made from a squeegee.
He used it to wash a car, cuz with a dirty ass windshield it won’t get very far.
So now I got his dollar eight and I’m livin’ the gangsta ass life.
Everyday supermodels are fightin’ over who will get to be my wife.
But don’t try to clip my wings baby, cuz bein’ tied down is a terrible fate.
Me? I’d rather travel the world and pay all my expenses with a dollar eight.
Lovers gonna love and haters gonna hate. That’s just the way it goes.
But ballers gonna ball and busters gonna bust. Has anyone seen my hoes?
Dolla, dolla bill ‘yall. Dolla, dolla bill indeed.
Some dude just rolled up on my ass. Asked if I wanna buy a dollar eight bag of weed.
“Sir, that’s not the game I play. So your ass better get to steppin.”
Yeah, the dollar eight lifestyle ain’t easy but it’s a life I’ll always be reppin.
P.S. Buy my book, bitch: