French Montana – Casino Life (Intro) Lyrics

Produced By: Harry Fraud
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[Intro: Sam "Ace" Rothstein, DJ Holiday]
In the casino
The cardinal rule is to keep them playing and to keep them coming back
The longer they play, the more they lose, and in the end, we get it all


(DJ Holiday)
Yeah, you know?
I was thinking the other day
The mixtape game is sort of like boxing
You got the young niggas out here swinging
Haymakers and what not
All wild and shit, ain't connecting
Dropped a mixtape for a little status, but ain't getting no fanbase
Then, you got the old niggas — Just won't hang it up
But you see I just pop up in the title fight
Pay-per-view and shit, stuntin' on these niggas
I come through, knock a nigga out
Count my money, Put my belt on my hip & we out
You know what this is DJ Holiday, French Montana. Casino Life
Round 1, We Working!


[Verse 1: French Montana]
Last year was the worse couldn't get worse
Only way is up now nigga weight is up (x3)

Couple locked, couple dead, couple ran away
To the the top, for the bread, we like to plan a way

Shit wicked in these mean streets
None of my friends speak
We all tryna win
But then again play the bad hand homie is how the ball bounce

But shit, couldve been guilty on all counts
We gonna make it, gonna make it is what you tell yourself
Only thing promised when you die your gonna shit on yourself

Bang it like bebox, ride 5 levi
01' never trust no one
Niggas never there, never there, never there when you need help
Niggas rather put holes in you like a cheap belt
Fame ain't free,
wine blowin fast
Cuz im the only one eatin off me

It go one for the homies, 2 for the down bitch
Three for the lawyer, and 4 for the oil

I wake up, time to bake up, time to raise the bar
You heard montana, mama raised a star

Soke in my body, gettin ready for the critcs
Ima leave it up to god, staying sane, its a job
Its the Intro, suicide central
Since young bitch put somethin on the petro
Made man, slave camp, jewelry box
Listen ahk, 8 stack Loui top
Money my sorta theme, I'm done bringin the game back the buzz on the carterveen
Go on tell rude boy, shoot ya out tha stankin crotch for takin shots
I knew oxtail like jamaican pots
Say you couldn't do it on ya own look at I
I had to see to it like crooked-I ha
Get it, I did it, hit it, shitted, her stomach polluted, knit it ha ha

Its my intro
Bitch this my intro
Mr. 16, Mizay
Where we at holiday?

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