MoneyMarc - God On Earth Lyrics

I'ma count this money and sell these bags until they gone
She throw that ass and I'm goin' long, I'ma catch that shit like Ceedee Lamb
When it come to your dog, I ain't nothing' like them, I ain't gotta flex on Instagram
Know a couple niggas who up, they don't give a f*ck, still takin' Cribs now

I'm a God on Earth, bitch, kneel down, ballplayers in the field now
Internet gangsters, real loud, I been throwin' bows like Steve McNair
My young hoe cool, I dropped a load in Atlanta, kick them P's out
Bitch, I'm Bluestrip Marc when it's all 100s, I ain't gon' recount

I'ma hit from the back, pull on her hair, f*ck up her leave out
We hit a Crib, we got five minutes, then we creep out
Gotta triple seal, all these bags, the smell gon' reek out
Try to hide me on her close friends, now we don't speak now, oh

High off Adderall, my dawgs they done went federal
I throw a lateral, assist my dawg like magic do
Older niggas hatin' on me, big bro, we ain't scared of you
Twelve behind me, skated on em, doin' your job, what you better do

Shoebox them racks this a different check, these ain't no Nike shoes
I can't build a bitch, when I come around, I always got my tool
Girl, I want both of you, when I call, please bring your friend too
My dawgs had past too, in these streets, I ran it up Cam Newton

Plus, I took depressants, niggas be trippin' bout a hoe
They all on go, they ain't stoppin' traffic, I can't imagine goin' fractured
If I do, I'm Edward Adams, puttin' cheese on niggas' heads
But nah I ain't playin' for the packers, most these niggas won't pop a pill no they ain't never popped a capsule

Ima count this money and sell these bags until they gone
She throw that ass and I'm goin' long, I'ma catch that shit like Ceedee Lamb
When it come to your dawg, I ain't nothin' like them, I ain't gotta flex on Instagram
Know a couple niggas who up, they don't give a f*ck, still takin' Cribs now

I'm a God on Earth, bitch, kneel down, ballplayers in the field now
Internet gangstas real loud, I been throwin' bows like Steve McNair
My young hoe cool, I dropped a load in Atlanta, kick them P's out
Bitch, I'm Bluestrip Marc when it's all 100s, I ain't gon' recount

I'ma hit from the back, pull on her hair, f*ck up her leave out
We hit a crib, we got five minutes, then we creep out
Gotta triple seal, all these bags, the smell gon' reek out
Try to hide me on the close, friends, now we don't speak now, oh