Artist: Waka Flocka Flame f/ Troy Ave Album: I Can't Rap Vol. 1 (Mixtape) Song: 3 Gold Chains Typed by: AZ Lyrics [Chorus: Waka Flocka] All these presidents my pocket like the white house I'm the type of nigga niggas read about I get cake, cake, cake like Rihanna nigga Getting to this cash what my life about 3 gold chains like I'm dealing dope Off the weed game just listen, I'll show you the ropes Ain't nothing worse than being broke I know the fucking feeling I'm a rich nigga tryna touch a another million [Verse 1: Waka Flocka] Vacuum seals and scales are my best friends Trap money Fucking bitches and they best friends Rap money Fucking groupies in the west end Tryna jack Catch the lad like he Zeppelin I came up off the shake I ain't talking Harlem Ballin off trees feel like I'm James Harden Known to sell out like the garden nigga These yellow diamonds on my wrist like a tape of caution Tell my brother, I am on my way to cut some more grass My worst fear in life is have no cash Ain't no feeling on earth like being broke nigga Ain't no trees then I will sell a fiend soap nigga [Chorus: Waka Flocka] [Verse 2: Waka Flocka] I want it all Money tall like Dwight Howard Wrist glish shit looking like a light tower New coupe, white paint like a brick of powder Can probably shop for red bottoms So search you like I am on a browser Loud on-deck, I got the charger power Make a killing off of trees I should send some flowers Bands in my pocket Like Maroon 5 So fuck ya twelve dollars and fifty cents and hour I came up and so-called friends looking sour Jealous niggas make me sick Call them Alfalfa Black diamonds in my chain The piece Malcolm So many presidents, I need a fourth hand to count them [Chorus: Waka Flocka] [Verse 3: Troy Ave] It's Troy Ave aka Harry Powder nigga Gold chains, cocaine, pay for hours nigga Drug dealer love scrilla Gotta keep it real Got a a couple of rollies I don't need to eat a pill Still popping though East Coast popping flow Came from the bottom flow Now I'm here got it show Everybody who ain't help my ass can kiss 8 hundred on my belt still sagging bitch Picking up the bread Count before we pop Boy we show the gang tryna out them in the lobby Always on the side guess he in mine too cause I'm in jail Every thing I talk the truth Mothafucker [Chorus: Waka Flocka]