Lupe Fiasco - Chopper lyrics
rate meFt. Billy Blue, Buk of Psychodrama, Trouble, Trae Tha Truth, Fam Lay & Glasses Malone
(Intro)
And now ladies and gentlemen, Lupe Fiasco
(Hook x2)
Filet Mignon wit my food stamps
Car cosigned by my momma
Medical card from Obama
Background check fo' a choppa
(Post-Hook)
Background check fo' a choppa
Background check fo' a choppa
Filet Mignon wit my food stamps
Background check fo' a choppa
Medical card from Obama
Background check fo' a choppa
Background check fo' a choppa
Background check fo' a choppa
(Verse: Billy Blue)
I got my choppa full & my black tee, slide
My baby momma done fucked up on her food stamps
That’s three muscles re-certified
I’m right, niggas be watching, they don’t want these problems
When them bills due, niggas get ready cuz no bullshit I’m buying
I’m a government baby, let me get my cheese, let me get my cheese
Got a Chevy trailer in my momma yard, sitting on E’s
I’m bout this fee, I’m bout this fee, just know what’s free
Ya were born wit a silver spoon in yo mouth so don’t critique
Look at me nigga, just a young hood nigga tryna get this cake
I don’t need to be giving out how school gon educate
Filet Mignon for my food stamps I know momma credit quite good
So I’m out here wit this dope money got a big body in my hood
Nigga, ya see it, betta believe it! This what I’m bout
Got a trap house I be booming in, fiends in & out
Fuck the J anyway it come nigga, section eight
See we straight, how much money I make
This block done stayed up high
(Verse 2: Buk of Psychodrama)
Filet mignon wit my food stamps
Would tell ya don’t really want be the truth
Let me hit ya back on my government phone
Still a hood nigga, whatchya want me to do?
We get a blunt & the drum outta fuck and collide
Where I’m from we be actually hooping in Jordans
Five dollar white t-shirts & them loose cigarettes
Ain’t nobody fit to do shit important
People really don’t give no fuck about nothing
Altho they may smile & be cordial
Dealing around wit the wrong dang crowd
Then bring a frown to my friend, I'm in a holly, done warn ya
Background check for the choppa, the govern wit their back down the neck of imposters
The murder rate ain’t back down yet, the fiend ain't roll that pound yet
To the nigga that was tryna say sumething
Sum' people, listen, ya could be predisposed o' be preconditioned
Or speak wit the preacher, been preaching be the person
That put sum' process in yo progress or be the prevention
I just live my life & I don’t stop grinding until God tell me to!
I get the money, I ain’t gotta sell my soul, ho, who the hell is you?
They say my kind ain’t welcomed errywhere, well I can deal wit that
But those who pop they shit get the shit popped out of them it's still a fact
So mind yo business & stay the fuck outta mine
You’ll shortly find that this is best for erryone involved
All in all, the Lord my business
(Hook x2)
Filet Mignon wit my food stamps
Car cosigned by my momma
Medical card from Obama
Background check fo' a choppa
(Verse 3: Trouble)
Permit, don’t need permission from a doctor
I been smoking since a preteen toddler
I been serving since a jit tryna dodge all the obstacles
My teachers all told me that were probable
Probable cause, no crack a neva really had it
I was just a nigga in a high price whip
Yea, I’m just a nigga wit an education brought up in the ghetto
Well ya betta have extension on the clip
Well beef comes around in the town mo' often than these bitches in motion
I got a yapper, five dollaz, off the streets
Yea I’m told for protection mo' than anything
Don’t test my devotion
My first amendment right, they violate it anytime we out smoking
Chicago violence boosting up but we just focusing on otha environments
Cross, I'll just take notes, mo' fiends done rise up
Might need new dope when I apologize cuz it was sumone worth promoting
Choppa & my bitch they ain’t kissing light sumebody up
Ya just tell them I'mma stole it
Rich gun play, shit, that’s all they see that’s all they know
Witout it kind of hopeless
Said this is in ’09 & still no medicare for grandma
I done said out their names & niggas still ain't want to enter
Lu probly tell me 'Trouble, ya gotta put the Mac down!'
Feeling these all in yo background
Said this is in ’09 & still no medicare for grandma
I done said out their names & niggas still ain't want to enter
Lu probly tell me 'Trouble, ya gotta put the Mac down!'
Filling these all in yo background
(Verse 4: Trae tha Truth)
I used to run up in yo crib wit shit that go ‘blaka
Nigga tryna brick my squad like I’m Waka
I don’t want a single chain I can’t rock up
Riddle told me 'life is a bitch, can’t stop 'er'
Even if I could, I tell ‘em I wouldn’t knock her
Till the get the six & then swap her(?)
Baby momma tax return, new droppa
I might wanna so sip that bitch like I’m Shocker
Automo bitch, swear that it's a war in the house
Food stamp, get flipped, what that water cost?!
Yeah, I’m acting like a nigga that ain’t neva had shit
Filet Mignon, porterhouse
My little brotha on his medical shit from that block street
Nigga health care insured by that gwop
Mo' ways than how they mean, no stop
Jackals playing ovaseas wit they yacht
Shit, I'd probably be the same I find drama
Law’s out looking for me like Osama
I don’t wanna do no bid, yo honor!
Still waiting on my one phone call from Obama
Tell ‘em I need the choppa
They telling me I'm a felon
I beat the case an' that’s it
& I wasn’t acquainted with him
But I’m tryna make it to Heaven
But they don’t want me to make it
That’s why the niggas be telling me
If I don’t get the choppa I’mma probly run up inside them
They betta gimme a answer, I’m tryna be cool
If I don’t get it then errybody gon fear
Erry week I’m finna make em repeat it like they in school
Bed blues, errybody open up sumething
Ya can move all ya want just not Southern
It ain’t no thinking I was playing I am not fronting
The mentality o' a goon, I am not stunting
(Hook x2)
Filet Mignon wit my food stamps
Car cosigned by my momma
Medical card from Obama
Background check fo' a choppa
(Verse 5: Fam-Lay)
Storm is gone now it’s all clear
The road was long but we all here
Not chrome tear, I don’t care
Twenty fourteen is our year!
Big shout out to the whole streets
This goes out to all that knows me
All y’all pussy niggas, hollies
Y’all play tough guys but call the police
Look I don’t care, I don’t share
I keep me a bad bitch with long hair
I send them choppaz around there
When I’m sumewhere sitting in a lounge chair
Ovaseas, blowing tree, blowing green, throwing B'z
Living like life is supposed to be
& if ya want to see it all, nigga roll with me
To the top, couldn’t stop, had a major deal but it wouldn’t pop
Nigas hated on me but I wouldn’t stop
& now life sweeter than a pudding pop
Think so slick, come and get me dawg
None of y’all niggas fucking with me dawg
Sum' of y’all niggas coming with me dawg
None of y’all niggas' boots fit me dawg
Ya think an echo was y’all
Ya need to think tactical dawg
We laughing at y’all while ya thinking me and Lu had to come on
Seeing this shit that keep going on
Then pick a different zone for yo mobile homes
Store fingerprints on yo mobile phone
When ya sipping that shit we keep blowing on
(Verse 6: Glasses Malone)
I’m bout that, I’m bout that
That billy out in that driveway
Cost mo' than my house, B
Fuck land, I’m fly today
First class if I fly (fly)
Credit card ain’t mine (yeah)
Don’t know how I’m getitn’ back
But in luxury I ride
IPhone in my baby name
Long way from that chirp (prrrr)
Strip pole in my bedroom
But I’mma kill my daughter if she twerk
I’mma kill my daughter if she twerk
Miley Cyrus is that bullshit!
But a real nigga can’t judge
That fo' Billy Ray to have to deal wit
Record deal, fuck college!
Missed out but no Pyrex
My Harley got low mileage
(This white carpet in my project)
Thirty guns in my section (true)
None of the homies got out (true)
My side bitch & she pregnant (so?)
But I ain’t claiming shit but the game
I ain’t claiming shit but the game (what's that?)
I ain’t claiming shit but the game (what's that?)
& this one is mine, I don’t trust his momma
So he don’t got my name (nah)
G rims on my ride (j'yeah)
Mirrors loose as my beat pile
I ain’t addicted to shit (no!)
My weed man on my speed dial
(Hook x2)
Filet Mignon wit my food stamps
Car cosigned by my momma
Medical card from Obama
Background check fo' a choppa
(Verse 7: Lupe Fiasco)
Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop
AR15 wit collapsible stock
Picket scening real wit a 3 point hunnids
Wish a hunnid fifty round magazine & a dot
FMJ’s by the box, nigga
Got the same setup as the SWATs, nigga
Shouldn’t find that surprising
Cuz I bought the muthafucka' from a cop
Ain’t seen a lot of brown money as a shorty
Welfare baby can’t afford me
Healthcare there, I ain’t worried
Healthcare there, I ain’t worried
Excuse me, as I repeat myself
Work twice as hard to complete myself
My opposition is not pretending
When I work twice as hard to defeat myself
Fuck being a hip hop purist
When I'm spending fifty thousand on Securus
At least it’s a contradiction, you’ll feel us
RIP to the homies but long live the killas
It’s why I look at God kinda odd
Cuz these are the cards that he deal us
Ramen can’t fill us, Medicare can’t heal us
& the mommaz can’t stop us
& these choppaz might kill us
Look these wild niggas in their eyes
In the video it's sum' niggas that done died
Looked the ghosts in the face & I cried
No Wu-Tang, just Lu gang when I ride
Wit an L up saying free the guys like I’m Durk
Wit a clean record but I’m cursed
To make a half a mill' off a verse
Nigga, chop!
