Song Lyrics FIELD MOB - Project Dreams    [Lyrics & Song Text Archive] lyrics archive>> F>> FIELD MOB Singer Lyrics [FIELD MOB other resources]>> Project Dreams Song Lyrics Author/Artist/Singer: FIELD MOB Music Title/Track: Project Dreams Theme ID: 8597 Album: N/A (Boondox) Rent thirty days late, gotta be gone by Saturday Tired of sellin' cocaine, folks tryna' trap me Every night dreamin bout livin life lavish A watch full of karats, a candy coated Caddy Off the show flo', sittin on fo' Vouges Oak wood gear shift, ??? dash door Choppin on seventeen inch Enki's Bling bling from my mouth to my pinky Enough about my jewelry, grill, and my Fleetwood Tryna still live stable so my folks can eat good House sittin out on the hill to sleep good Livin peaceful, just like we should Money legal, no more sellin reefer No more FEDs tryna' stick me like a needle When it's cold outdo' come in I heat ya He ain't gotta walk in the sun, I A.C. ya Bump worryin 'bout that burgular comin to creep ya Get trapped by alarms and the millimeter I'm a do or die playa for my people, follow the leader I'm my brotha's keeper, for real (Chorus-both) I'm a have me a big nice Caddy House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy Live life happy and I'm still nappy Makin legal money, no FEDs tryna' trap me I'm a have me a big nice Caddy House on the hill for my ma' and my pappy Live life happy and I'm still nappy Nigga, legal money, no FEDs tryna' trap me If you ever been broke put your hands up You been broke put your hands up, put your hands up If you ever been broke put your hands up You been broke put your hands up, put 'em up (Kalage) What ya know 'bout havin no dough, no coat for the winter Remember, we poor folk Most cut yolk and smoke coke, cut throats in ya dope, hoe Talk about they wanna 'Lac with four do's, no Vogues Wood kit and Momo's I gets Polo, pockets so swol', Jenny Craig Naw, Escalade hog, in the yard Breakin all ya folks too, belly full a soul food Chittlens, greens, pork chops, green beens Yeah I pray for that, each and every day I rap I rap with guard, 'cause I feel you ain't really safe with gats We escape slacks, the government help and welfare My folk cries to the Lord, ain't no help there We ain't have much, or less to brag about, but mo' to lose I ran the street, mama told me go to school But now I got a chance to change things and maintain Mo' so, I ain't gotta slang 'caine anymore Hell yeah boy, you really understand dirt Well I'm a rap if you gon' clap until your hands hurt I ain't the only person feel like I feel, that there live like I live And wanna chill, for real (Chorus) (Boondox) Now put your hands up if you're broke, folks tried to spoil ya With fried bologna sandwiches and sugar water (Kalage) Put ya hands up, if you feel my hurt Have you ever bathed with soap the size of a Cert (B) Don't disguise the dirt did 'cause we all know rocks It's the real reason furniture go to the pawn shop (K) 'Cause ya crackhead cuz smokin the car antennas (B) Understand see... (K) It's a junkie in every family (B) Them my hand-me-down, tight pants, lookin slim in 'em If they too big... (K) What you do? (B) Put a hem in 'em (K) 'Member talkin over the loud sounds when the wind blow 'Cause the trash bag's replacin yo' car window (B) Man, I been poor (K) I been poor (Both) Man, we been poor! 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