interlude performed by belly

Dj Khaled

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