Lyrics:
The money would be pretty good
If a quart of milk were still a dollar
Or even if a quart of milk were still a quart
And the hours, well, I don't
the D's
Oh, you're gonna want to freak me, freak me
Only if you're old enough, baby
Eighteen and over or sixteen and under
Oh, but how I wonder, I
He was driving home one evening
In his beat-up Pontiac
When an old lady flagged him down
Her Mercedes had a flat
He could see that she was
two
Touch more, taste a glass of oil
Flash yours rae
Money we saw, left em dead on the door, dick
Rots look chunky on the index
Straight up, lee
that's real shit, nigga
Main one say that he solid be the one told, that's real shit, nigga
Gettin' to the money even though I gotta go on my own, that's
on my boots
These rappers phony, keep me a heater like Tony
Thinking i'm sad but that was the old me
Most of my hoes wanna clone me
Because i'm a slayer
my dick like a ransom or somethin' (mwah)
Countin' up money romantic to her (racks)
Think I might purchase her panties or somethin'
Her man is a bum
Ahh, ha ha ha ha ha
Making commas, they keep running from me
I keep chasing money, money
Crashed the Benz but then I got the Bimmer
I ain't learn
I want to get to that old street
I want it oh so bad
I just need one more number
I just need one more scratch
This little man is on my back
He's been
The old groups, they're not concerned with what there is to be learned
They sell 501s and they think it's funny, turning rebellion into money
Can I kick
on the table
Service engines light on in your Mercury Sable
But your pretty smile still lights up my whole world
We ain't broke
We just ain't got any money
at my wallet
I'ma keep the money comin', cash flowing never stoppin'
Money train always goin', feel the money I'm embalming
I done got me a deposit, I
I wan get money
I no wan Dey gum body
Anything I touch make
E turn money
Make dem girls
Dey call me honey
Omo Oro how far
I hope say you Dey get
changing
You can’t have it all
Now the building’s a bike shop where
We went to high school
The house where my mother
Lived is a restaurant
The old public
I love them bows, nigga Stack it so much had to hide it in them floors
nigga Hid money from myself till it got old
Stack it up till it rot and it
I got an old thot you can have
Nigga couldn't fuck my old bitch
Niggas couldn't eat my old pussy
I'm in the kitchen I could tell
You how the stove
Show me if you got it
I've been running through my money like that
I ain't got no problems
Cause I've been running through my money like that
Show me
bad friends.
I could let you rock the mic,
She could do the ad libs. (Do the ad libs)
They say I'm aggin',
Nah home, I'm gettin' paid. (Get money
too old for my age
I took some acid now I'm feeling so strange
The streets don't love a nigga never will
Just to make it through the day I popped a pill
Where the Mississippi's flowing on the sunny southern shores
And the steamboat comes a-puffing round the bend
There's a little old log cabin with
in it too lose we in it to win
I still be drinking old school
Gin and getting tunned
Another word for pounted is
Wounded alcohol consume it
Look, still
I was 18 years old, when I went down to Dublin
With a fistful of money and a cartload of dreams
"Take your time", said my father, "Stop rushin' like
years old with a tie and a briefcase
One more day, waiting for the money to come
And they clap their hands and they jump for joy
And gather round
I will not stop till I'm comfortable
Counting this money feels wonderful
Little nigga got the 4 on him
Right now he feels so untouchable
Have you
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