Brief Case Money
San Quinn
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Lyrics
I'm not rushing you at all, Coz
It's 2000, Quinn
What's up, Berner?
Flossin' through the city
Flossin' through the city
Yes, yes, yes, yes
Never over the facts, Palm over the Mac
You ain't gotta recount, you know I keep it exact
In the drought, I'm flooded, smoking weed in public
In Frisco City by the day, tourists love it
Skyscrapers and fly gangstas, you can see 'em flying in
22 So clean, you can see inside the rim
Pop your collar, adjust your britches, my hustle vicious
My knuckle game is good, many a muthafucka witness
Flip it like a gymnast, run it like a race
Not how you start, how you finish, and I'm taking my place
Need a bad piece of work, badder than you could imagine
Stay in Louis Vuitton, yup, leather and satin
Platinum brown with the French tips, MAC on her lips
Not the role of a whore, but she's more like a pimp
Eating beef chow mein with my homie Lau Tang
In the in a bulletproof Range
Fresh fit, twenty racks, SF fitted cap
Money, I'm so into that, Benz truck, I tend to that
I'm so fly that these pretty girls pay up
Caked up, cash out, make 'em step their weight up
I'ma need a hundred more, fifty's not enough
And I pay with twenties, 'cause I put my hundreds up
Damn, I keep 'em coming, huh? And I'm here to stay
Got darker purple and much purer 'caine
Ooh, it's like a hurricane when that flood hit
Berner got dumb kicks, boy, I'm 'bout to run shit
Put him on that red-eye, hit me when they touch down
I'ma send the rest of 'em, do you really trust brown?
I'ma stick with FedEx or put him on the road
It's been a crazy year, I can't lose another load
Got a briefcase full of dead presidents (Benjamins)
Mind's militant, moves elegant (Finesse)
It's like the coke and the weed's all heaven-sent (Thank the Lord)
Flippin' hella shit, 'cause we hella rich (Paper)
Got a briefcase full of dead presidents (Watt City)
Mind's militant, moves elegant (Yeah)
It's like the coke and the weed's all heaven-sent (From the sky)
Flippin' hella shit, 'cause we hella rich
I'm talking briefcase money, dope boy music
A hundred racks plus in that Louis when I move it
Running with the heater, keep that bitch right beside me
In case she gotta eat a bitch nigga on the sly, G
Real talk, I ain't never on no bullshit
Talking real slick'll get you hit up with the full clip
I love the full clip and hustle on the daily
Pull the money out the, you broke bitch, you better pay me
I ain't playin', I'm talkin' for the fuck of it
From Fillmore to Oak Park, we out here on that fuck a bitch
Gangbangin', flippin' bricks, pimpin' hoes that's sucking dick
Make you strip like Mardi Gras, fifty out here on that sucker shit
Try to screw with me, I'll chop you down
Hit you with the chopper rounds
If you thinking you a shooter, you get shot by the chopper rounds
Try to screw with me, I'll chop you down
Hit you with the chopper rounds
If you thinking you a shooter, you get shot by the chopper rounds
Gangstas, players, thugs and alcoholics
Too many busters in this game, I can't call it
Six shots to make him bleed, three more was what he need
And I'm dippin' wood grain 'cause I'm out at high speeds
My pharmacy is guaranteed
My J Jonah, push the pedal 'round the corner
I'm from sunny Lincoln Village, California, what's up?
I got the lean in my cup, got a bath, so what's up?
And I'm on in this club, plus I'm good with the snub
This nickel-plated is from a plug, let me show you what it does
So high step up, block love, what's up?
I'm in that G-Hussain with a bitch giving brains
Mr. Point-Blank-Range, I'm on that turf splitting range, yeah
Got a briefcase full of dead presidents (Benjamins)
Mind's militant, moves elegant (Finesse)
It's like the coke and the weed's all heaven-sent (Thank the Lord)
Flippin' hella shit, 'cause we hella rich (Paper)
Got a briefcase full of dead presidents (Watt City)
Mind's militant, moves elegant (Yeah)
It's like the coke and the weed's all heaven-sent (From the sky)
Flippin' hella shit, 'cause we hella rich