I'm Martin on the Balcony

No need for a vest, that'll suffocate the flesh. I'm Martin on the balcony,

anticipating death. Let the rifle sing, 'cause I have a dream. My Coretta Scott

King in a tub full of cream. Pink champagne seem to take away the pain.

While the blue hollow points penetrating all the lames. Money ain't a thing, bitch,

that's a lie. It only controls every bitch that's alive. Money manifest,

haters gotta die. Tia never told you that that motherfucker rides.