They Point lyrics

[Hook: Mr. Bangladesh] (x2)
Every time I stop, hoes like look at him
Every car I drive, n*ggas want one of them
They pointin', they pointin
They like dammmmmn
They pointin', they pointin
They like dammmmmn

[Verse 1: E-40]
Like Ricky Ross, everyday I'm hustlin'
Gettin' off weight (like who?) Jennifer Hudson
Pack a hammer, Thor
Shooter, score
Slide through batches think I'm hecka rich
Breakin' necks, turnin' heads like the exorcist
Thumbs up like the like button
Eatin' good, no rib touchin'
Runnin' with a bundle, never fumble
Countin' so much bread I got Carpal tunnel
Stock paint (from where?) Maaco
Beige, like a potato
They hate me on the outside, love me in the inside
Suck me in the back seat while I let a friend drive
Half a pound two stacks, half a unit 10-5
I stay out here by Sully so you know a hustler been fly
[Hook]

[Verse 2: Juicy J]
My pockets some'n serious, mansion on a hilly
Main that n*gga got more cheese than a philly
Shoelace tied but a n*gga still trippin'
I'm Lionel Richie high, I'm dancin' on the ceiling
Never marry a hoes, I just marry checks
That's how you stay on top, missionary sex
Rubba Band Business, know you heard of that
I got the town talkin, know you scurred of that
None less than ten figures, you know what I'm worth
Record sales, show money, not including merch'
Club full of b*tches, pocket full of Franks
Blunt full of weed, cup full of drank
Me going raw dog, ain't no way in hell
Before I risk my life it be a cold day in hell
But b*tch take it off, here we go show and tell
And I'm f*ckin' that pus*y like I'm fresh out of jail

[Hook]

[Verse 3: 2 Chainz]
Parallel park while I'm ghost riding
Black diamonds man I'm racial profiling
I'm so fly man I need a co-pilot
So I might let your damn ho drive it
Lil' hair pullin' man I like rough sex
Dropped out, I ain't never passed a drug test
You know my lingo baby let's mingle
So I got a thousand dollars worth of singles
I got racks in the cargo of my camo
Still, still won't give her Nathaniel
Life a gamble so I had to make a bet
These ain't Air Max but I can make a check
They took me out the streets but it's still in me
I been sellin' werk since we had Bill Clinton
I'm the voice of the streets so they still listen
On the back of the milk carton, ceiling missing
[Hook]