Sim Dope

Yeah, mama African, mama Africa

Hands in the air if you’ve been broke

I see millionaires making bread, that’s the end goal

Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window

So if I die I pray to God he bring me back as Sim Dope

Sim Dope, 911 rim spokes

Back when it was college I would hook him up the crib notes

Teachers say he got a problem dealing with the tempo

But you ain’t even fucking with his gym clothes

Don’t see the roof, that’s German auto

J.C Le Roux, 1000 bottles

I see the truth, this the land of promise

Call me the proof’ I’m just being honest

Mama Africa, mama Africa, mama Africa

Hands in the air if you’ve been broke

I see millionaires making bread, that’s the end goal

Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window

So if I die I pray to God he bring me back as Sim Dope

Sometimes I look at my mother, I think of what could’ve been

Imagine building a palace that’s only fit for a queen

My daddy climbed up the ladder until he ran out of steam

Reputation was damaged but never ran of dreams

That’s why I talk in my sleep

Fortunately my esteem is awkward for people who awfully

Talkative in the street

Especially if all that talking is cheap

I got the recipe making peace with my enemies, my conscious is clean

Don’t see the roof, that’s German auto

J.C Le Roux, one thousand bottles

I see the truth, this the land of promise

Call me the proof’ I’m just being honest

Mama Africa, mama Africa, mama Africa

Hands in the air if you’ve been broke

I see millionaires making bread, that’s the end goal

Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window

So if I die I pray to God he bring me back as Sim Dope

Yeah, I’m in this bitch with Mandela

They pull my name out the envelope, you should fuck with the winners

You got some buzz from your single but that’s just luck for beginners

I’m coming back in the another life just to stunt on your children, uh

Drop top for the summer time

Proposing this toast, focused on goals like I’m number nine

Everyone of these flows my foes gon’ analyze

Eyes closed while I fantasize

Nice clothes and my jewelry ice cold like Savannah Dry

Power moves being strategized

So if I die I’m leaving behind some real dough

Or bring me back as Sim Dope, there’s still hope

Hands in the air if you’ve been broke

I see millionaires making bread, that’s the end goal

Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window

So if I die I pray to God he bring me back as Sim Dope