| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
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| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
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| This that fire, man
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| Run that shit back, ayy, ayy
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| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
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| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
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| I said if it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
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| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
|
| Once upon a time there was a young boy straight finessin' shit
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| I don’t sell no drugs but you could hit me if you need the zip
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| I’ve been workin' hard, I’m tryna get all of my friends rich
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| Workin' everyday, I’m tryna get myself a bad bitch
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| Ayy, blowin' up all in my city
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| Ayy, she call me poppa, no Biggie
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| Ayy, all of these hoes think I’m pretty
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| Ayy, beautiful hair like a hippie
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| Ayy, smokin' my dope in the 'cuzzi, yah
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| She put my hand on her booty, yah
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| She said «Daddy, can you do me?,» yah
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| Sprayed on that bitch like a Uzi, yah
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| Shit, ayy, I ain’t fuckin' done yet, yuh, yuh
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| Momma need some gold teeth, all my dawgs are tryna eat
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| Goin' dummy on the beat, ACOT supply the heat
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| Posted at the function, slippers on but I’m still fuckin' dancin'
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| I’ma keep on rappin' till I’m dancin' in my fuckin' mansion
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| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
|
| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
|
| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
|
| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
|
| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
|
| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens
|
| If it ain’t the moolah tryna talk to me, stop callin' me
|
| Pockets feelin' tight and I’m just tryna stack my collard greens |