|
(feat. Yo Gotti, Gucci Mane) |
|
[Intro] |
|
Fuck a rubber band a nigga need a buncha birds [X4] |
|
[Over intro - Gucci Mane (Yo Gotti)] |
|
Yo, it's Gucci, brrrr, R.I.P. Pimp C mane, brrrr |
|
(This that straight my, straight my) |
|
[Chorus] |
|
Money all day, count money all day |
|
Count money all day, count money all, money all |
|
Count money all day, count money all day, count money all |
|
Money all, money all, money all day |
|
[Bun B - Verse 1] |
|
Say mane, no matta where I go, no matter what I do |
|
If chillin' wit' myself, or ballin' wit' my crew |
|
The skies is lookin' cloudy or Bahama water blue |
|
I got that money on my mind, so tell me what it do |
|
And if you be like me, then you already knew it |
|
We goin' for the money then we goin' right through it |
|
Take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it |
|
'Cause it ain't nothin' to it where come from, but to do it |
|
We get it in our hands, and then it go right through the fingas |
|
We standin' on the system in a fresh set of swangas |
|
We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on the hangas |
|
That everyday struggle and can't nair nigga change us |
|
Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song |
|
Believe I had a poppin' 'fore a label put me on |
|
It's 2010 and I ain't seein' nothin' wrong |
|
But niggas countin' money all day fuckin' long |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Yo Gotti - Verse 2] |
|
Money totin', pistol carrying young nigga thugged out |
|
Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house |
|
Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stoopid swag |
|
Rubberbands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags |
|
Apple chain on my neck, you know that cost stoopid cash |
|
Maserati for the wash, that's that foolish cash |
|
Penitentiary chances, '6's on a muscle car |
|
Bun helped me keep it real and watch it take me far |
|
My money don't fold, this money here |
|
I ain't make it for no hoes, I ain't get this off of shows |
|
Count money all day, count money all night |
|
Just know I'm wit' my paper, so I got my paper twice |
|
I been on wit' out my paper, so I sleep wit' it at night |
|
Now I wake up wit' to my paper so I start my day off right |
|
They call me Cocaine Gotti, and it's money over bitches |
|
Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Gucci Mane - Verse 3] |
|
It's me Gucci |
|
I'm the shit bitch you smell me |
|
Ain't no need to check ya sneakers |
|
Three bricks, plus a split wit' me, then bitch you got a hit |
|
Big money on my leisure, pop bottles wit' top models |
|
Wit' my goons in Puerto Rico, yo' girlfriend I'ma freak her |
|
Believe me I'm a giant, leave it to the lemurs(?) |
|
I only see my paper plus my cojan on the Sanyo |
|
The hottest rapper that you know, people look like Cujo (Gucci) |
|
I get a thousand million ties and sold your guys for uno |
|
So tune into East Atlanta, please don't change the channel ma |
|
Roll the windows down back up |
|
In my Phantom show my automa |
|
Hangin' out my partner, naw |
|
Don't you want this autograph? |
|
Thinkin' that you angry 'cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras |
|
[Chorus] |
