gettin money

Lyrics

, i'm tired of niggas thinkin' they sylvester - but now you prob'ly thinkin' wich one, shit, rambo, rocky pick one!, i'm in the seven star telly, and the roomkey come with a butler if you bring it, you gone fucker. i'm a player! - i use my rules the two-thousand-and-five, two live crews in the moulin rouge. when i party - i'm tend to get a few long screws, so i'm in the v.i.p with the two long ruegs. you stupid to go against us, cause you gon' loose. we got bullets! - the size of newborn shoes. and i'm connected around the board, so the southside cheap, out in ca$hville nothing 'bout steel and gold-teeth. you ain't got to know hip-hop to know 'bout this, entrepono nigga with the poke-out wrist!, 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. i'm from the slum, so this is pitched, to the lil' niggaz, that never got a christmas gift. give me a minute - to hear me out, so clear my name from the bullshit - cause gettin' money what i'm really 'bout!, and chinchilla when it's chilly out, rollin' up a phillie blunt, pay attention to how i really stunt. ether you gangsta or really drunk. fuck what ya heard! - my clique run the city chump!, allow me to display exelence;, pappa caught a nut, mamma had a son and i've been this way ever since. you know - head full of neglelance, 'till a "high-dawg" in the bing over bitch-made evidence. my whole hood on the chase for dead presidensts, cause ain't nothing out here. - che'-che' check out my residence!, man i'm the best! - nothing more nothing less, but i will be the greatest when i "back-off" my haters!, my neighborhoods 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 11-7 suburban there come with a 'k, it's onroad offroad put your hummers away, okay?, come swingin' you'll be bleeding from the gun, cause i ain't tryna wrestle not even with my thumb. i went to hot cancoon from freezin' in the slum, half done! of bacardi breezers with the rum. i ain't never been a cuddeler she's leavin when i come, like d-bo with his right: "spend the evening with your son! ", you ain't leaving 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 boywonder!, that'll only get you in a rumble - crawlin' on the floor like a fumble. - nigga!