TGUT - MONEYMAN Lyrics

It's Hood nigga, Pablo Juan
You know what the f*ck goin' on, nigga
True story, no lie, three time
Let's go

Don't call my phone unless you talkin' money
My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan
That ain't my bitch, I leave her to the other man
Whip it up, they can't believe it's not butter man
Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
F*ck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Stick on my hip, blue Benjamin bankroll like a Crip
Iced out, I need a quilt
Stuck in the slave days with the chains and the whip
Am I racist because I like all white bricks?
It's a chicken race, we see the police and we buyin' it
Rich, we do not do leases
And I got M16's, ain't talkin' 'bout bitches
My dope bell ringin', my trap beat
Forty gram blunt like the seasons, at the Four Seasons
F*cked every bitch since I f*ck 'em and leave 'em
Chopper's a bitch, I might just start bleedin'
On Allah, I got more haters than Jesus
Complete the puzzle, you ain't got all the pieces
So much money, take care of auntie and nieces
I f*ck like the Energizer, just like Easter
I be on the best exotic good reefer

Don't call my phone unless you talkin' money
My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan
That ain't my bitch, I leave her to the other man
Whip it up, they can't believe it's not butter man
Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
F*ck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Big G Herbo, I remember havin' coke and dope
Mentally was in the kitchen mixin' coke and dope
I was readin', writin' rhymes in my rap book
F*ck around, now I get a book of coke a show
I got fans out of Indiana, Kokomo
Big T's comin' straight from out of Tokyo
Cost a few G's soon as I walked in the door
Cost me two G's, that's for my lil fit, you know
What it's worth I spent a bag on my G-Fazos
But I still know how to swag in them penny loafs
Gucci, Louis, that's my swag on the really though
Saint Laurents don't gotta sag 'cause they fitted, bro

Don't call my phone unless you talkin' money
My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan
That ain't my bitch, I leave her to the other man
Whip it up, they can't believe it's not butter man
Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
F*ck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Bitch I'll blow out your brains
Y'all niggas ain't gang gang
Spent a whole thing on my chain
Used to cookin', bag up 'caine
I'm on the west, free GeeWee, that's my blooda, bitch
I'm on that east, posted in Brooklyn, free them Shmurdas, bitch
I'm in Houston with J Prince, shout out Mob
You gon' hear 'bout a nigga gettin' killed if I ever get robbed
Bitch, I ain't tryna talk if you ain't tryna slob
Platinum sellin' artist, but I'll put you on the news, nigga, that's on God

Don't call my phone unless you talkin' money
My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan
That ain't my bitch, I leave her to the other man
Whip it up, they can't believe it's not butter man
Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
F*ck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man