Belly - Interlude

Yeah look
Straight out the holy land
to holdin' grams
Tra-tra-trappin' out stolen vans
with goals and plans
Lonely man
remember bein' my only fan
I'm down and up
the Midas touch
the golden hand
Blood in the soil is over oil
Cold-hearted
my blood boils
The spoils of war are used to
take the drugs out the foil
Man these arms can't reach you
AR's won't recoil
Goddamn
I might marry a heiress
and move to Paris
Fuck the carriage baby
let's go disappear and just perish
Thirty karats in the gold
I wear it to cherish the kings
from which we inherit
My chariot is McLaren
It's all numeric
Talkin' numbers
you incoherent
Don't be embarrassed
I blame your parents
for even caring
Or not aborting
ah fuck it it's not important
My vital organs can't even
tell if it's night or morning
Final warning
final warning
final warning
Every morning you'll awake
and await mourning
We earn it then we burn it to ash
I call it urn money
My dog caught 40
before he turned 20
Money is earned
the rest is inherited
Hashish come from Marrakech
all my kush is American
Man I feel like a therapist
pistol on me like Maravich
I careless
I'm so perilous with
all of this arrogance
goddamn
Money hoes
that's something
that you can't chase
I ain't shit but let you eat
from the same plate
If you ungrateful then
you ain't great
Me and Khaled come
from the same place
Huh holy land holy land
Back when I was holdin' grams
just to haul a Benz
Yeah holy land holy land
My father never was a holy man