My Money

Lyrics

[Intro] Yeah (My nigga Brainstorm did this beat) Yeah, yeah Huh Phew, pew [Verse] They like I hate when you funky I'm chillin tryna get money They like I hate when you dancing Feeling good, tryna get money I'm not playing about my money I can't argue about my money We ain't about to talk about my money She only love me for the money A hunnid, a fifty She smart, tryna act distant A hunnid, a fifty All that shit you coming with, can miss me with Neph in the party with a big lick They can talk about what, they ain't did shit Glock will hit you like a hiss fit We gon' get drunk and don't remember shit I'm not playing about my money I'm not talking about my money I'm not arguing about my monеy Guess what bitch? It's my money Hit the ATM and start dancing Hit Wеlls Fargo, start dancing Hit Chase Bank and start dancing At Bank of America, I'm dancing Party lit, Neph and Brainstorm Neph pulled up, got 'cane for 'em The party lit, it's Neph and Brainstorm White girl like "Neph got cocaine for me" Her booty soft, perky titty Her booty soft, perky titty Her booty soft, perky titty Let Neph lay his head on them titties Hit it from the back, make love in it It was twenty minutes, off the drugs with it Open up shop and trap dubs with it She a real bitch and I'm in love with it Glock in my hand while I'm dancing High as hell, I ain't got the answers Don't ask me shit I can't answer I'm Kanye, Sway you don't got the answers Gucci rug and the 'sace rug Uncle Elroy, Mr. Nasty time A Fendi rug and a Gucci rug Uncle Elroy, Mr. Nasty time Work so good, slap your momma' Work so good, slap your momma' Work so good, slap your momma' My bitch cook ravioli with ricotta Pray to my money rag, not Allah Glock outta' nowhere like voila Bitch wear the Glock, it look like pom-poms Shots fired! You do not wanna' rob her She move her hips like she Samoan Topshelf head like I growed it Pulled up in town. girl you know it I'd rather get high than go bowling Big house, six bedrooms That's not a guest room, it's a head room My other room the boom-boom room Walk in with a robe like Bernie Mac Like "Hell nah, I want my corn bread" I'll beat your ass 'bout my corn bread You can keep your pussy, I need more head Run to the bag like I have four legs Cameras all around the trap Waist trainer almost broke her back Cameras all around the trap Let me out, I ain't going back These Dior, not shell-toes Glock on my hip like Velcro Take a hood bitch out to Melrose I stood on Garson like a scarecrow