Money, Cars and Clothes
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Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
All my bars mean, got a raw team
House on my neck, my car made out of starscreen
We ball like professional athletes
Shoot a nigga's lights out like Paul Pierce from the backseat
Look at my watch and my chain
A tropical rainstorm, cookin' pots of the 'caine
Hot, spit flames, you're not in my range
Just because I own the team, you think I'm not in the game
Homeboy, you're not usin' your brain
Thinkin' this is just music, my shots ruin your aim
I smoke back-to-back to hide my thoughts from the pain
The land of the lost, a holocaust in the rain, nigga
I'm gettin' money, boy, stuntin' is a habit
Fuck a crib, boy, I'm tryin' to cop a palace
I got them type of karats you don't feed the rabbits
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
You see the bezel? Princess Diana stones
I can sell my jewelry and I can buy a home
Nice clothes, my jeans cost me five hundred
Louis V shoes, at the mall I gotta buy somethin'
I can't help it, I spend
Hop outta that Benz truck and roll up an ounce of that chem
Pop bottles like I pop tags, yeah, I get money
These other dudes go broke, then they get funny
I keep my bread in a duff' like Mayweather
Way better trees and my Swish, yeah, it taste better
Call me cake-getter, Mr. Money Counter
Pills, pussy and the power, plus, baby, I got
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
I'm gettin' money, boy, stuntin' is a habit
Fuck a crib, boy, I'm tryin' to cop a palace (Yeah)
I got them type of karats you don't feed the rabbits (Uh)
I can't help myself, I gotta have it (Look)
I'm what your favorite rapper is supposed to be (Yes)
Street religion, got that iced-out rosary (Hail Mary)
I'm the truth, nigga, a bitch can swallow this (This)
Your clique is soft meat, I spit hollow tips (Boom)
It's like whatever, fella (Fella)
I'm gettin' cheddar better (Better)
I got that white girl (Yeah), I got that gรผera gรผera
My tats tell stories (Word), now watch me shank through this (Yeah)
I got connects, I sell heroin to Frank Lucas (Frank Lucas)
Lay it down, I live the vida loca now, boy (Word)
The chief Indian, servin' all these coca cowboys (Take that)
I'm the Don, nigga, oh yes, I am Latino (What?)
I re-cocked with Berner (What? What?), then flipped with Al Pacino
I'm gettin' money, boy, stuntin' is a habit
Fuck a crib, boy, I'm tryin' to cop a palace
I got them type of karats you don't feed the rabbits
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it
Money, cars and clothes
I can't help myself, I gotta have it