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Gettin Money Lyrics - Artist : Banks, Lloyd
I'm tired of niggas thinkin' they Sylvester
But now you prob'ly thinkin' which one Shit, Rambo, Rocky, pick one (ooh!) I'm in the seven star telly And the room key come with a butler If you bring her, you gon' fuck her (boo!) I'm a playa, I use my rules the two-thousand-and-five 2 Live Crew's in the Moulin Rouge (yeah!) When I party, I tend to get a few long screws So I'm in the V.I.P with the two long Ruges (uh-huh!) You stupid to go against us, 'cause you gon' loose We got bullets, the size of newborn shoes (wooo!) And I'm connected around the board, so the Southside chiefs Out in Ca$hville nothin' 'bout steel and gold-teeth (whattup?) You ain't got to know Hip-Hop to know 'bout this (uh-uh!) Entrepreneur nigga with the poke-out wrist (yeah!) Give me the dice, I fuck around and throw 'bout six And be the reason you roll out piss, I'm buyin' Cris' with this (Yeeeeeeeah!) I'm from the slum, so this is pitched To the lil' niggas that never got a Christmas gift Give me a minute to hear me out So clear my name from the bullshit (uh-huh!) 'Cause gettin' money what I'm really 'bout And chinchilla when it's chilly out (uh!) Rollin' up a phillie blunt, pay attention to how I really stunt (woo!) Either you gangsta or really drunk Fuck what ya heard, my clique run the city, chump (chump) Allow me to display excellence Poppa caught a nut, momma had a son and I've been this way ever since (wooo!) You know, head full of negligence Hell-a high dog in the bing over bitch-made evidence My whole hood on the chase for dead presidents 'Cause ain't nothin' out here, che-che check out my residence Man I'm the best, nothin' more nothin' less But I will be the greatest when I back-off my hiatus (g'eah!) My neighborhood's good but I don't wave to my neighbors They wouldn't see it anyway, they 'bout a block away, HEY! My flow is rawer than Columbian yay' I'm like the MJ in his day; hungry to play And the level-7 Suburban there come with a 'K It's on-road off-road, put your Hummers away, okay? Come swingin' you'll be bleedin' from the gun 'Cause I ain't tryna wrestle not even with my thumb (OH!) I went to hot Cancun from freezin' in the slum Half done, off Bacardi Breezers with the rum (WOOO!) I ain't never been a cuddlier she's leavin' when I come Like Deebo on his bike: "Spend the evening with your son!" You ain't leavin' with a crumb, bitch I'm from the hood, ya heard? Violate I wish you would you bird Y'all don't want it with the Boy Wonder That'll only get you in a rumble Crawlin' on the floor like a fumble, nigga |
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