Testo Much Money - Kenny Mason feat. Freddie Gibbs
Testo della canzone Much Money (Kenny Mason feat. Freddie Gibbs), tratta dall'album Angelic Hoodrat: Supercut
Ain't finna argue, ain't nobody harder
Ain't finna argue with nobody daughter
You only bossy 'cause somebody spoiled you
You only bossed up when nobody chargin'
I only tear up whenever I start
To look where we at 'cause I know where we started
Miss me with static, you know that we brought it
It's automatic like doors at the Target
Tote it at Target, won't miss our target
With the lil' beam on it, won't miss a Martian
With that lil' beam on it, won't miss a marble
Call up lil' demon, he gon' hit your marble
Put up my finger and finger a goddess
Of Venus, I'm eatin' out Eve in the garden
Ain't no more eatin' out, we gettin' leaner now
Niggas been readin' now, we gettin' smarter
Even the odds and get even odder
Seekin' these broads in need of ménages
Leanin' on leadin' all gullible people
To think that you hard is leavin' me nauseous
Bitch, I really know niggas in pain
Share my vision for niggas that can't
Knew your shit wasn't legit when you gave
Your attention to ignorant claims
I swear to God
Bitch, I might risk my life for this spark
I could tell off the top, he was flawed
I could tell how he talk, he a fraud
No, these niggas won't die for the squad
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad
Bro, these niggas won't die for the squad
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad (squad, only one way, yeah, yeah)
Put that on fin, it ain't nobody harder
Bitch, you would never bitch, I beg your pardon
Labels get fed and these artists, they starvin'
I was gon' be a rich nigga regardless
Big Rabbit gon' whip that brick up regardless
Known in the shop, fix your trap and your barber
When sack in town, we sell rocks like the Carter
Big bro gon' hop out that fishscale, no tartar
Yeah, I could put four bitches in a drop-top, yeah
Seen a Lamborghini, gave me slop-top, yeah
Seven in the mornin' murkin' opps up, yeah
Knockin, "Boom, boom, boom" like I came from Sinclair
First of the month, I hit my geeker with a Tina
I moved on to the yayo, I was finished with the reefer
Fifty in this MAC-11, 'bout to shoot at the police
As I was chillin' in the strip club, fucking up Maria
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad
Copped that 850, yeah, for the squad
Bitch, you got on them pistols, but ain't gon' shoot shit
I think you scared to die for the squad (you ain't gon' shoot shit)
Chopper hot, man, I put that on God (God)
Bet these fuck-niggas callin' the sarge (callin' the sarge)
Bitch, you got all them pistols but ain't gon' shoot shit
You gon' snitch if they give you a charge
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad
Bitch, I might risk my life for this spark
I could tell off the top, he was flawed
I could tell how he talk, he a fraud
No, these niggas won't die for the squad
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad
Bro these niggas won't die for the squad
Bet these niggas won't die for the squad
I swear to God
Bitch, I might risk my life for this spark
I could tell off the top, he was flawed
I could tell how he talk, he a fraud
No, these niggas won't die for the squad
No, these niggas won't die for the squad
No, these niggas won't die for the squad
Bro, these niggas won't, no, these niggas won't
Bet that nigga won't
Credits
Writer(s): Terry Brown, Fredrick Tipton, Bill Lane, Widnick Prevalon, Edwin Green, Gerald P Brown
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Disclaimer:
i testi sono forniti da Musixmatch.
Per richieste di variazioni o rimozioni è possibile contattare
direttamente Musixmatch nel caso tu sia
un artista o
un publisher.