Lyrics Language: English Song writer/composer(s): Raymond Grant, Jeffrey B Atkins, Simon Haseley, Irving Domingo Lorenzo, Richard Grant, Jeffrey Crocker, Tiheem Crocker, Ramel Gill
Yeah
Yeah, yeah, yo
I got a knack for pushin crack, and cookin raw coke
Fresh off the boat, no vest but I tote, and wear it like a coat
I'm starin through the scope, with one eye open and one shut
Zero in on the target, spark him and watch his head bust
Ain't shit to discuss, unless it's moneybags
Or the SK-8, drop Jag with funny tags
Homey laugh now but die later when the lead dump
And double barrel slugs like Elmer Fudd, I'm handsome
Some of your favorite rappers is flamin, I'm bangin things at them
They claim they gangster, lettin mens give brains to them
I aim the stainless, let the games begin
Bang bang dangerous, my gun gang famous
My hoes don't speak English, catch 'em at the foreign money exchange
New Armani leather in the Range
When you see my gang, tuck in your chain
We stuck in the game, we fuckin the same, bang
I'm bout my money and bout my business (bang!)
Shout out my niggaz en route to riches (bang!)
I doubt we different, hustlers pitchin (bang!)
And we all gon' get away, all my niggaz say
I'm bout my money and bout my business (yeah!)
Whatta, bout my bitches who mouth is ridiculous (yeah!)
Gettin money and nigga it's insignificant (yeah! what?)
Always get your pay, I love it when I hear 'em say
It's back to business, stackin riches
If you, act suspicious, it's a Wrap like Reynolds
Black Continental, mac outta the window
Black's out of his mental, I black out with pistols
It ain't confidential, all the shit I been through
Now I'm gettin money and a mill' is essential
Bang bang, nigga, 'til the day we die
A tooth for a tooth and a eye for a eye
Nigga you know it's, business befo' pleasure, money over chicks
Dummies in the clip, nickel on my hip patrollin through the strip
Bet a stack, head crack, no rollin to the six
Scoop up my chips, then I split, with my beautiful bitch
Like Jada Pinkett Smith, for that paper I leave stinkin and stiff
Your pinky and wrist, and your necklace
Get removed nigga, my wolves is playin hardball
Leavin him bloody like a Pelican Bay yard brawl
I'm bout my money and bout my business (bang!)
Shout out my niggaz en route to riches (bang!)
I doubt we different, hustlers pitchin (bang!)
And we all gon' get away, all my niggaz say
I'm bout my money and bout my business (yeah!)
Whatta, bout my bitches who mouth is ridiculous (yeah!)
Gettin money and nigga it's insignificant (yeah! what?)
Always get your pay, I love it when I hear 'em say
Who wanna know why I got so much beef with so many rappers?
Drama, it's the INC red rum spun backwards
Karma, is a muh'fucker watch your actions
Cause the clip to the max slips in bananas
I catch fire like matches (whew) then blow out
And the flyest crews goin the fastest
Pull up to the hottest club in New York, with my hazards on
No tags, I just drove it off the showroom floor
Straight cash, bout my paper, I'm on my gangster
Doin this shit for ten years, niggaz I'm major
Maybach and all that, same behavior
Money over bitches, bitches over strangers
Guns befo' bangers but bangers do
For niggaz that had enough and ain't got no clue
That they can get slayed, flex and get sprayed
And spin they head like yo' hottest DJ's, motherfuckers
I'm bout my money and bout my business (bang!)
Shout out my niggaz en route to riches (bang!)
I doubt we different, hustlers pitchin (bang!)
And we all gon' get away, all my niggaz say
I'm bout my money and bout my business (yeah!)
Whatta, bout my bitches who mouth is ridiculous (yeah!)
Gettin money and nigga it's insignificant (yeah! what?)
Always get your pay, I love it when I hear 'em say
The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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