Lyrics:
off until everybody's gone
All Star homey, keep a hell of a price
Cash money still a army and I earn my stripes
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Yo Gotti
Women lie, men lie
Women lie, men lie
Women lie, men lie
Numbers don't lie (I'm Yo Gotti)
Women lie, men lie
Women lie, men lie
Women lie, men
[sheek]
Yo, ayo let's get papers and pop mo' with holes up in skyscrapers
In condiminiums, overlooking our drug capers
New york city, know only
Jus' get yo money mayn, tha INC is runnin' thangs,
hideout wit 'Loose Change'.
An' you nigga Ima send you ta mommy...
wit strict ordas from Gotti ta hide
Guess im just like Yo Gotti, 'cuz im just tryna rake up
Countin' cash till the sunset, countin' cash when i wake up
Stackin' money on the dresser, see
off until everybody's gone
All Star homey, keep a hell of a price
Cash money still a army and I earn my stripes
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Yo Gotti
off until everybody's gone
All Star homey, keep a hell of a price
Cash money still a army and I earn my stripes
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Yo Gotti
So I picked up my mail, and I'm about to go
Cause I'm about that mo' money, mo' money, mo'
Now homie on his face, he rolled over just like that
like my name Greg Popovich
I live by da code like I stay in sum apartments
I be on fire like my name yo gotti
Learned how to hustle keep sum guap in my
Bitch!
Brick city, yo
Yo, yo funk doc straight lunatic since young
I ate paint chips the rare moon
That pair mics, my maintenance
I battle you
an MC
Aha, aha, aha, aha Everybody wants to be an MC
Tidjân
Yo and I want
Mo
Money
Mo
Cash
Mo
Girls
Mo mo
Bling bling
Mo
Parties
Mo
Rings
Mo
Fame
Mo, mo
mo' rich, c'mon
Let's close the club, c'mon
Fuck the place up, c'mon
Shake yo' nasty ass
And make it swing all around, c'mon
Yo, make this money
mo' rich, c'mon
Let's close the club, c'mon
Fuck the place up, c'mon
Shake yo' nasty ass
And make it swing all around, c'mon
Yo, make this money
Got mo' money in my piggy bank then you got in yo real bank
Mo' money in my piggy bank then you got in yo real bank
I hustle, yeah I hustle
Man I
thirty-eight packer
Money stacker, t-shirt cakalaka
Verbal predator, fake rap attacker
Gotti jawbreaker, Roscoe the back cracker
Money makin, we smart like
[talking]
Look here, you know what I mean, I done did a lot of
shit in my life, Yo Gotti, street raised street paid...
[chorus]
I'ma sell my dope
got to get it, got to run my money up [3X]
Uh! I'm going on a Trap-A-Thon
Gucci Mane like Gotti I'm the Dapper Don
Uh! Hundred G's in my Gucci bag
Gotti you know we got you nigga
Palm City
Milkwaukee Buck'ing Gang
Yo it's that boy they call Young'n
And you know I rep that gang
Them ink
My nigga Ja sold more records than an o.g. (o.g.)
Tah flyin by in the Lac truck like a o.g.(o.g.)
For Gotti I'd body a nigga quicker than a o.g.
some blue Allstars
Passin by on them thang, it's a brown MC
Niggaz goin buffin DPG (Dogg Pound, Dogg Pound)
Niggaz mad Dogg bumpin a bank account
seas
Eightball slippin', Dogg Pound trippin'
Back in the mo', where we don't give a fuck
My baby brother NYA, and just he got stuck
By them same
numbers followed by a bunch of zeros
Yeaahman I’m all about my business
Loyal to the money but it also is my mistress
But wait!!
I’m in a whole different
gettin' me anxious
To speak for my defendants, that say that they plaintive
Guess we guilty by song, but yo the government must be on
(Exodus)
I mean
overseas
My nigga Snoop from the Pound
Put me in the game
With a sweet chocolate brown
Ass beating by the Pound
To the sound of my ride
Gotti opened up
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