[Certain]

Thinking of a master plan
Cause ain’t nothing but sweat inside my hand
So I dig into my pocket, all my money spent
So I dig deeper, but still coming up with lint
So I start my mission, leave my residence
Thinking how could I get some dead presidents
I need money, I used to be a stick-up kid
So I think of all the devious things I did
I used to roll up, this is a hold up, ain’t nothing funny
Stop smiling, be still, don’t nothing move but the money
But now I learned to earn cause I’m righteous
I feel great so maybe I might just search for a 9 to 5
If I strive then maybe I’ll stay alive
So I walk up the street, whistling this
Feeling out of place cause, man, do I miss
A pen and a paper, a stereo, a tape of
Me and Eric B and a nice big plate of
This, which is my favorite dish
But without no money it’s still a wish
Cause I don’t like to dream about getting paid
So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made
So now's a test to see if I got pull
Hit the studio, cause I’m paid in full

"Trash one-syllable rhyming." —Barcotic