Lyric Low Income

[Intro]
Let um feel the beat first
I m bout to come through your stereo
Should I rhyme or start with the hook?
Start with the hook

To my people who don t wanna go to work
Thank God it s Friday
Cover me she bout to put up her skirt
Thank God it s Friday
Do Your mom now you act so berserk
Thank God it s Friday
What s the track, what s the track girl?
She don t wanna, she don t wanna work on Monday
(I wanna thank my hood)

[Verse 1]
For makin me a star before I had fast cars
And couldn t tell the difference between Whoppers and caviar
Before the fame
Way before things changed
All I wanted to do was freestyle and get a name
I used to work at the fast food restaurant
For minimum wage
Dreamin I m on stage
At 17 I left the house
Cause my father was a minister
And I didn t want the Marvin route
What s goin on?
Today to sell a song you need a video with soft porn
MC s in the industry
You wanna tip?
Don t let them pimp you like Goldy
And tell Sony they better have my money
Cause I play wit the Comodores and be like Lionel Richie
Low Income, I stay so hungry that if 50 Cent came to rob me
He d be part of my charity
(I wanna thank my hood)
[Chorus]
To my people cuttin hair in the shops
Thank God it s Friday
To the thugs sweatin up in the chop shops
Yo, it s Friday
To my people that don t got no job
Everyday it s Friday
What s the track, what s the track yo?
She don t wanna, she don t wanna work on Monday
All the Ladies sing

[Ladies]
I don t feel
Like cookin you no breakfast
This mornin
(Wyclef: All my hoodlums say)

[Guys]
Well, you don t have
to cook me breakfast
Cause your girlfriend will
After you leave
(I wanna thank my hood)

[Verse 2]
For the love of money
I know kids who ll slit your throat
Friday the 13th
Jason wit a trench coat
But you can t scare Suzie
Cause her man got so many uzi s you d think he was Cadivi
Meanwhile, she s getting her nails done
Crystal clear so they could shine like wit diamonds
It s such a shame what happened last week
Man they found her under the sheets with a letter from the Son of Sam
It said to tell New York I ain t sleepin
You want to be clubbin then you better pack your heat in
And to my man G Swar Rest in Piece
I still poor liquor
1 draw on the cocoa leaf
Inhale, exhale smoke grasses
Polices in the area, but ain t no need to panic
You wit Wyclef you getting in
If not, then we gonna make CNN
(I wanna thank my hood)

To my people who don t wanna go to work
Thank God it s Friday
Cover me she bout to put up her skirt
Thank God it s Friday
Do your mom know you act so berserk?
Thank God it s Friday
What s the track, what s the track girl?
She don t wanna she don t wanna work on Monday
Yo, to my people cuttin here in the shops
Thank God it s Friday
To the thugs sweatin up in the chop shops
Yo, it s Friday
To my people who don t got no job
Everyday it s Friday
What s the track, what s the track yo?
She don t wanna she don t wanna work on Monday
All the Ladies sing

[Ladies]
I don t feel
Like cookin you no breakfast
This mornin
(Wyclef: All my hoodlums say)

[Guys]
Well, you don t have
to cook me breakfast
Cause your girlfriend will
After you leave

[Guitar Solo]

(Daddy, play that guitar)