Money in the Mattress

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Harry Fraud

Rory William Quigley (born January 26, 1987), known professionally as Harry Fraud, is an American record producer and composer. Primarily a hip hop producer, Fraud began producing at an early age and began interning at a recording studio after graduating high school. First discovered by French Montana during a recording session in Chinatown in early 2009, Fraud has gone on to become a fixture in the New York underground and mixtape scene. He gained mainstream attention when his song with French Montana "Shot Caller" became one of the most added tracks on urban contemporary radio between 2011-2012.Fraud has produced collaborative records with various rappers, such as Flight 2011 (2011) with Chinx Drugz; Rugby Thompson (2012) with Smoke DZA; Cigarette Boats (20… more »

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La Musica De Harry Fraud

Only young nigga you know, that still keep a bundle for the fiends
Pulling up, hitting licks in whips from overseas
Only pull my dick out to piss on money trees
And bad bitches, you wouldn't understand kid
Cause you never had bitches
I played the back block and the Porsche
Made a power move too, now we in the forefront
Was kids, watching Scooby Doo
It ain't about what you know, it's who you knew
I still pray like a Judas do, extended the clip
F*ck it, long as the shit removable it stay on the hip
Pants sagging, got my bitch bagging up work in an orderly fashion
Turn to shake, wrap it in static
I was getting the bag before I was established
Beams, clips and bullets, I still keep the gadgets 
Yachts, Bentleys and jewels, shit you couldn't imagine
Opp give me a two, I'm finna let em have it
I'm still a King, I sip Henny out the chalice
And it's 600 bands, smoking they asses
Mixing Runtz and Gruntz, I'm smoking gasses
If I die, shit, the money in the mattress

I'm from a block where the fiends say the work hit oh so good
Oh so good
Even when it slow shit, we moving on the low man, I'm always in the hood
I'm always in the hood
When I was that broke nigga I ain't have a clue, letting days go by
Letting days go by
Clutching on my grip, still heavy on the hip, it's finna be a homicide 
It's finna be a homicide

Before I had a bank account, I had mattress money
My first check, had to have my bitch cash it for me
Selling crack before this rap shit was mastered fully
Made cash from cookies, ski masks and hoodies
Pounds on top of pounds, like they was hashtags
A full pound and forty pounds in a trash bag
Shot up his 6 series, made him crash fast
Put a long arm to his six like it's half past
He flashed cash that belong to another man
Your whole stash will fit inside a rubber band
Go kick that woke shit to another man
I'm worried about the motherload, not the mother land
Last time I had beef, he deceased
If it wasn't for police, I wouldn't leave the streets
I'm Michael Corleone of the East
Setting up a meeting with the boss, kill em and leave the piece
Trust

I'm from a block where the fiends say the work hit oh so good
Oh so good
Even when it slow shit, we moving on the low man, I'm always in the hood
I'm always in the hood
When I was that broke nigga I ain't have a clue, letting days go by
Letting days go by
Clutching on my grip, still heavy on the hip, it's finna be a homicide 
It's finna be a homicide

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