foxed orange temp

Thinkin' of a master plan 'Cause ain't nothin' but sweat inside my hand So I dig into my pocket, all my money spent So I dig deeper, but still coming up with lint So I start my mission, leave my residence Thinking, "How could I get some dead presidents?" I need money, I used to be a stick-up kid So I think of all the devious things I did I used to roll up, "This is a hold-up, ain't nothing funny Stop smiling, be still, don't nothing move but the money" But now, I've learned to earn 'cause I'm righteous I feel great, so maybe, I might just Search for a nine to five, if I strive Then maybe I'll stay alive So I walk up the street, whistling this Feeling out of place 'cause, man, do I miss A pen and a paper, a stereo, a tape of Me and Eric B. and a nice big plate of Fish, which is my favorite dish But without no money, it's still a wish 'Cause I don't like to dream about gettin' paid So I dig into the books of the rhymes that I made So now's a test to see if I got pull Hit the studio, 'cause I'm paid in full