"Inside Job" as written by Anthony D. Wheaton and Alvin N. Joiner....
So it's one fifteen in the mornin'
I'm comin' up, a hard day, serve
We gettin' drunk smokin herb and the third dike you roll
Non-stop cash flow
Twenty thousand dollars and the rest cuttin' Yayo
We had the rocks, my nigga late to pick it up
Get him on the phone, hurry up 'cause I ain't tryin to get stuck
So what the fuck is the hold up?
("Nigga sit your ass in a chair and I'll be right there")
Reminds me I gotta shake the spot
I got bitches in the hotel room ready for me to bang cop wait
Yo, who is that man?
("He wanna spend a couple of hundred, (yeah), but he'll be right back")
That's when I shoulda got the heater
But I was too busy in the kitchen countin' money
And takin' shots of Tequila
Started countin out twelve when it hit me with gallons of seman
If you was Rocksteady, you woulda came when the C-Note's rang
Before I could yell out to lock the front
Niggas rushed in the front door with the gauge, ready, duck
Bad enough I'm caught up in it, jacked
I'm caught in the kitchen without the strap
("Where's the muh-fuckin sack homeboy?")
Woulda killed Terminators only D between us
Is a stove and a refrigerator
Came in and put the gauge to my chest
Took the money off the table
And said ("Yo, where's the rest of it nigga?")
You gotta love it, came straight to the moneyman
Twenty thousand cash, neatly stacked, wrapped in rubber bands
Snatched the whole shit and broke out
I ran to the living room and got the heat from under the couch
Smashed out to the middle of the street started blastin'
Dumpin' at the getaway car but they was mashin'
I thought I heard the homies just in time for the action
Police hit the corner with they reds and white's flashin
These niggas rolled off with at least a cool fifty
Ya, I'm in handcuffs on the ground and mad 'cause the K-9 bit me
Shipped me off downtown for the bookin'
Threw my herb sack when the cops wasn't lookin'
Fingerprints, hold the tape, hear come detectors
One at the door, another one askin' questions
Stupid shit like "Who was I shootin' at?"
Was it gang related and where do they kick it at?
But I didn't say shit I can tell from all the people involved
It was an inside job
But I'm the wrong nigga to rob, I'll hunt you down
Fuck the money, I'll take you off and accept the loss
Set bail at fifteen g's, no sweat
Got cars slippin tonight, and almost got wet
Homies come to set bail see, but that's all right
Since I'm already here I'mma spend the night


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Inside Job" as written by Anthony D. Wheaton Alvin N. Joiner

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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