[DJ Paul]
|
Put the needle on the record mayne... Put this shit together
|
for my boy Project man... Nah... nah... here we go... some mo'
|
gangsta motherfuckin' shit man... it's goin' down know what I'm
|
talkin' 'bout? Hypnotize Minds... yeah!
|
|
Yeah... I need for all my real motherfuckin' money makers in the
|
motherfuckin' house... to reach in yo' motherfuckin' pocket... and
|
pull out a stack!... and hold that motherfucker high as you can in the
|
air... and then I need you to walk over to one of them haters and
|
throw it in his motherfuckin' face 'cause he need it mo' than you do...
|
Now get on yo' knees and pick that shit up!... Pick it up BITCH!
|
|
[Chorus x2]
|
You see me in this new car, this what money do
|
You see me shinin' like a star, this what money do
|
I left the club wit'cha broad, this what money do
|
This what money do, get you some hater
|
|
[Verse 1]
|
I'm flickin' on you snakes, I got wood, leather stitchin'
|
Clothes stickin', 'cause ya ridin' bucket, cloth seats itchin'
|
Couldn't get me, saw it in the clouds, like my nigga Rickey
|
Mr. James, all these superfreaks, out here tryna get me
|
Wanna hit me, wanna say, they done been 'round the truth
|
In ya bed, or the booth, I'm the ghetto Dr. Ruth
|
When I do, step on out, moonlight, hit the Range
|
Pretty jewels they attract broads, like shiny thangs
|
When I came, to ya hood, I was new face, in the place
|
Game spitter from the North, so ya wanna catch a case
|
'Cause ya see me holl'in' at 'cha ex-girl, don't 'cha?
|
Murder charge for a broad who don't even want 'cha
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Bridge - DJ Paul]
|
Throw a stack in his face! It ain't nothin' but some money
|
Throw a stack in his face! It ain't nothin' but some money
|
Throw a stack in his face! It ain't nothin' but some money
|
Throw a stack in his face! It ain't nothin' but some money
|
|
[Verse 2]
|
You suckers crazy, so y'all out here pushin' daisies
|
Over Daisy, she was on some purple hazey
|
Had the baby, year later on my income
|
Tax, so a nigga could receive mo' income
|
Been one, I'mma rent some, of this game out
|
Gift of gab, talk you by the slab wit' no thang out
|
Hangin' stout broads, 'round my arms, decoration
|
These punks give me dap, same time playa hation
|
Erasin', you lamers, hatin' got'cha famous
|
Confronted by the broad, got shot in ya anus
|
Heinous, heard they took the slugs out'cha dookie roll
|
Gun powder and the blood burn in ya bootyhole
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Verse 3]
|
I was screamin' "Don't Save Her," was you, listenin'?
|
Kept, twinkle on my gold teeth, so I'm glistenin'
|
When I open up my mouth, these gals, lookin' in
|
Hear the words that I speak, then go and tell her friend
|
Dog, all over freaks, boys goin' to the pen
|
Or the grave, real early, hollow shutters check 'em in
|
Wanna fight, my nigga, wanna shoot, my nigga
|
Talk ya gal out her cap, when ya loot my nigga
|
Do you, my nigga, fall in love wit' these tramps
|
Goin' raw, on her, and she did the whole Camp?
|
But you rest havin' that, knowin' that, she'll go
|
Lickin' balls, suckin' cat, knees burnt from the flo'
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
[Bridge - DJ Paul x2]
|
|
[music to fade]
|
|
-----------------
|
What Money Do
|
| Project Pat |
