[Chorus] We gettin' money man I'll show you how to turn profit In the hood they call me Joey the profit First you cop it Then you cook it Then you chop it What the Fuck boy Bitch ass niggas They can't stop us We turn a Profit P, P, P, P, Profit the Profit We make a P, P, P, P, Profit, Profit Yeah in the hood they call me Joey the profit If you listen close my niggas you bound to see a profit I'm New York's living legend The streets know me well Stand in the line of fire It's going to be hell You dancin' wit the devil Tonight's your last night Picture me Lil's Eazy E Pistol Fahrenheit LA County got work in Slawson We get it poppin' Back to Roxbury in Boston The streets love me See they named me coca The Puerto Rican version of La Costra Nostra You can find me in the kitchen with me apron on Something like the chef, yeah I get my Raekwon on Joey the Mayor I get Keys to the city And I got 'em cheap the whole hood could come with me Nigga [Chorus] I'm getting money I'm the president Junior And in the hood they call me Weezy the future And everybody that's around me you'll shoot ya And nigga my band let 'em blow like twofers yeah Clap I got em, I g, g, g, got 'em I got em, yep Cook I got em, I g, g, g, got 'em I got em, yep And in the hood they call me Weezy the future If listen close my nigga you might see the future Young Wayne in the building Where your stove at Cook 'em up Strap 'em down Where the road at I'm strapped up plenty bullets Nigga hold that Now you step in out in led shower where your robe at I knock your earth off Damn where ya globe at Fuck the coach I keep shooting like Kobe The money knows me better then anybody Bitch I'm paid forget about it I'm sitting in the coupe wit the titties outted The nipples chrome Or that big black thing wit the slippers on that bullshit Dippin' on them bitches Get off dick You soft pricks I'm from New Orleans Homeless but don't forget The sun even shines on dark shit And dawg I've been hustlin since the day I was barkin I walk in this bitch like what it do The money home Stop hatin' Get your money on Nigga [Chorus: x2] This year all star weekend was off the chain Literally niggas comin' off wit them chains Put the Desi to his chest Homey going die tonight Then his jaw dropped like Napoleon dynamite Jack boy I been since I'm a toddler My Dad was sleeping I was running through his pockets Oh yeah you ready for war then what's stopping you I hope you know them Bentley doors not chopper proof And they go Br are-RR Ta Tat Just like them bullets dancin' Come up short wit my doe I'm bout to pull a Manson Take your kids for ransom Yeah it's Payback Nigga Next time I front you some birds you better pay Crack What shit, I don't know nothing He might be the police coming up with assumptions All I know is this nigga hear is about to meet god If you don't bring me some keys or bring me fifty large [Chorus]
Written by: CARTER, DWAYNE / CARTAGENA, JOSEPH / KHALED, KHALED
Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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