AKA- Sim Dope Lyrics

- April 26, 2013 - -

Lyrics to  Sim Dope by AKA

Mama Africa
Mama Africa
Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that’s the angle
Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window
So if I die I pray to god he brings me back to Sim Dope

Sim Dope 911 rims spokes
Back when it was college I would’ve came out with crib notes
Teachers say he got a problem dealing with the temple
But you ain’t even fucking with his gym Clothes

Chorus
Don’t see the roof, that’s German auto
J.C. Le Roux, 1000 bottles
I see the truth, it’s the land of promise
Call me the proof, I’m just being honest

Mama Africa
Mama Africa
Mama Africa

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that’s the angle
Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window
So if I die I pray to god he brings me back to Sim Dope

Sometimes I look at my mother I think of what could’ve been
Imagine building a palace that’s only fit for a queen
My daddy climbed up the ladder until he ran out of steam
Reputation was damaged but never ran out of dreams
That’s why I talk in my sleep fortunately my esteem’s
Is all for people who awfully talk it even if it is cheap
Especially if all of the talking is cheap
I got the recipe making beats with my enemies my conscious is clean (uh)

Chorus
Don’t see the roof, that’s German auto
J.C. Le Roux, 1000 bottles
I see the truth, it’s the land of promise
Call me the proof, I’m just being honest

Mama Africa
Mama Africa
Mama Africa

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that’s the angle
Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window
So if I die I pray to god he brings me back to Sim Dope

I’m in this bitch with Mandela
They put my name in the envelope you should fuck with the winners
You got some buzz from your single but that’s just luck for beginners
I’m coming back in another life just to stunt on your children
Uh, drop top for the summer time
Proposing this toast focused on goals like I’m number 9
Every one of these flows my foes gon analyse
Eyes closed while I fantasies
Nice clothes in my jewellery ice cold like savannah dry
Power moves being strategized
So if I die I’m leaving behind some read dope
Bring me back to sim dope there’s still hope

Hands in the air, if you been broke
I see millionaires, making bread that’s the angle
Private jet Benzo, can’t see through the window
So if I die I pray to god he brings me back to Sim Dope

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