But all the ho shit still so smelly Three-sixty-five, twenty-four seven Percocet got a nigga nose sweaty Belch wrong, get your throat slashed Nigga, broke ass, where's your cash? Nigga, Santa Claus with no bag Nigga, you a ho-ho-ho ass, nigga Nigga with

All the Pinot, Pinot Grigio girls Watch your blues turn gold Keep it real cold 'Cause it's a fired-up world Oh, oh, make it all make sense Pour your heart out Oh, oh, does it all make sense? I was twenty-three She was thirty-five

Yeah that's right Twenty-three Twenty-four Twenty-seven

Christmas bells are ringing Follow, follow Honest living, honest living And it's beginning to snow Twenty five Twenty four Twenty three No room at the Holiday Inn, Oh no

Babylon dem thief my herb dem thief my herb herbalist high grade specialist export green stash import green cash yo ? exit no more call us no rush Twenty pound of weed inna three black ? bag you sit inna van back crowning head a black rag who a di thug

What's my age again, what's my age again? Nobody likes you when you're twenty three My friends say I should act my age And that's about the time she walked away from me I took her out, it was a Friday night I wore cologne to get the feeling right We

Meet Eddie, twenty-three years old Fed up with life and the way things are going He decides to rob a liquor store (I can't take this no more, I can't take it no more homes) But on his way in, he has a sudden change of heart And suddenly, his conscience

This seven-forty-seven can't go fast enough, fast enough Every minute is wasted time She gets a little bit closer to saying goodbye I'm looking out from my window seat Halfway back, aisle twenty three Man I wish that I could fly this thing I could hear