"Luxury Tax" as written by Dwayne Carter, Erik Ortiz, Kevin Crowe, William Roberts, Jay Jenkins, Michael Gradney, David Oliver and Maurice Young....
E-class
I think we got a problem
Yeah

Big money in this bitch if you didn't knew
Big business minus the business suit
Even I look in the mirror like is it you
And I say I must be the hottest if it isn't you
Stay fresh from my top to my tennis shoes
New coupe, no top, big tennis shoes
Never slipped, not even on the side of a swimming pool
We don't get ridiculed,
We get rid of fools
They said I couldn't play football I was too small
They say I couldn't play basketball I wasn't tall
They say I couldn't play baseball at all
And now everyday of my life I ball!
And they say ya' ain't raining until someone assassinate,
And I feel like M-L-K
Yeah, I have a dream to be your worst nightmare,
And now meet the boss of the cartel
(Ross!)

I'm a seven-nine Satan, sitting on Lorenz's
And I seem really patient, picture the equation
People taking pictures and they really getting fragrant
Flags down my spaceship, sergeant sniffin' for a fragrance
Yeyo, Yeyo, he wanna sniff the yeyo, flying saucer on the house
In the casa just to lay-low
Make more (money man) that the model for the mob
Need a blow-job my model, get a model for the job
Go hard, no job, hustler, no prob, poster,
Nigga what finger fuck you whole squad.
Forty around extendo, flipping for my kin folk
Luxury tax on them packs if you didn't know
Bought a new crib, niggas feeling like I hid
Three point two but I just did it for the kids
More guns than a pawn shop,
Got my whole arm rocked.
Keep the seven sexty double parked in the wrong spot

Still hustling
Boss!

[Chorus]
Yeah
You gotta pay for this,
I remember when I used to pray for this
This, this is classic,
Some shit you might not see again
And we taxin', you don't want it nigga leave it then,
And we taxin', you don't want it nigga leave it then
And we ain't trying to see the pen,
Like a needle in a hay stack we ain't trying to see the pen
This is a luxury tax

(I don't ask them baby I just tax 'em baby)
(Let's go)

Yeah imagine this,
No imagine that
Gave me my sack like, good luck getting back (Yeah)
I'm like how the fuck I'm gonna get outta there
And if I'm not careful,
Leave 'em the same place they find him there
And I'm a winner if I make it cross the finish line,
Putting food on the table like it's dinner time
And this is what you call stereotyping by far?
Can you tell me me why your dog keep sniffing my car?
Huh? Got the audacity to call me a liar
So what you got in your trunk?
Oh, just a spare tire
You niggas talked blow,
While I sold mine
Like a bad cramp, it's locking up in no time
More time in the kitchen then I spent in the studio,
Gangsters paradise and I ain't talking about Coolio
Can't lie, still addicted to the odor
Got a ice cold Pepsi,
But still thinking Coke-Cola

Ha ha ha

[Chorus]

I'm up early in the morning, and I'm dressed in black
Hold on, every morning I get dressed in black
While your half ass, nigga my pants saggin',
I'm getting money, and my swaggin' and black flaggin'
Million dollar status, fully automatic
Heavy on the henny and even harder on the women
If it wasn't for rappin',
I probably would pimpin' and shit
Pops, my papi, has already hear me
I tried trapping, shit sent me to prison,
Got mad and went to savage so homicide came to visit
I smell gun powder,
So you got one hour to come up with every damn dollar,
Or your dun-dolla
It cost a ball dog,
Especially when the players on your team,
Consider you as the ball hog.
You treat me like Shaq,
And you Kobe but I didn't say you owe me nigga
But act like you know me nigga

[Chorus]


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"Luxury Tax" as written by Maurice Young, William Leonard Roberts, Jay W Jenkins, Erik Reyes Ortiz, Kevin Dean Crowe, Michael Gradney, Dwayne Carter, David Oliver

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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Luxury Tax song meanings
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