Lyrics:
by you in the coupe
Fuck I miss my roof
Can't love her, can't trust her
(fuck that ho)
I swear that I can't put no one above her
(what) that money
starter coats
Laflare entertainment by myself
But I used to have a high right, low left
Gettin' money by da truck loads
Rollin up big fat el productos
In your city whenever I come (What?)
They with the shit, and nah bitch
They don't give a fuck
Got money by the front of the hood
So I don't give a fuck
hannin'
We gettin to the money we run it up and bring them racks in (We bring them racks in)
I can't trust nobody I'm pistol packin' (I'm pistol packin')
If
[Chorus: Gucci Mane (Lil Scrappy): x2]
I rob in my black tee
Hit licks in my black tee
All in ya house searching for bricks in my black tee (Crank
trappin tryin to get some money
Servin', Trappin', Candy Lady gettin' it
They still robbin in da back of da partments
Dese niggas under age wit pistols in
By the way that I go put that sauce on a nigga
Mane just by the way that I carry a bitch
Call me backpack kid when I floss on a nigga
Mane these
chips
I keep me a steak, a pistol, a grip four 5th
Cuz I'd rather be judged by 12 then to be carried by 6
Don't wanna be carried by 6
Rather be judged by
my drink
Two shades of lipstick on a doobie
Two cuties with stains of lipstick on they booty
Im movin and groovin
Clicquot and Remy by tha jaccuzi
This
man, the bread man I don't tell no lies.
[Chorus]
Money Mane gettin' it in, I'm only in it to win
I ain't come to say I'm the champ, I get bored
melon in now
With a pistol so big yo it could lift
A hippo and knock an elephant down
Akh, I punch a lot, I'm tellin' you now
And that fake-ass ice that
ain't gettin' money then move out of Georgia
100 tapes and goin', go check my discography
The freshest nigga livin', go check your photography
I been in the fast lane keep it lit like propane
All about about that doe mane cannot play no hoe games
Found a better way to get that money than
comin', yeah
The bitches know how I'm comin'
(Why they call you Tony?)
'Cause I pop shit by my lonely
Pocket full of Crip, blue hunnids, yeah
Money got
Intro]
(Juppy on the beat)
Yeah (Mane all them puss ass niggas mane)
Ay’, ay’
Ay’ mane I swear that shit gettin’ old, bitch (Talkin’ all that shit,
suckers
You deserve to die
Talkin bout you gettin money
But it's funny to me
All you suckers living bummy
Why you're messin' with me
I'm a self made
me
They say my chain so cold, but my watch too hot
My earrings bling, pinkie ring on fire
Twinkle twinkle, see the stars pass by
Gucci Mane ain't
Call me Gucci Mane when I'm on the stage with you
But call me Jessie James when I hold this damn pistol
You can call me Gucci gu-ap when I do a song
(Ay)
Boy I'm not the one to come to wit your issues
Say that you got pistols but we pull up wit them missiles
Chopper hit your chest and then that chalk
Runnin' through that money, no I stack it like a hill
Fuck around wit my niggas mane, know they bang fa real
When it come down to my brother bitch
her, gettin' laid tonight
Swisha rolled tight, got sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way!
her, gettin' laid tonight
Swisha rolled tight, got sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly way
But there's got to be a better way!
This for all my niggas in the city
But this shit really for Queens though
Really for Queens though!
Big city of dreams, motivated by schemes
Gettin
you for that feature so I can go put it on a nigga head, real quick
Nah nigga, you gettin' a whole lot of money now, I'll tell you what
You just give
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