Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Moneyman, artist - HoodRich Pablo Juan. Date of issue: 06.08.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Moneyman |
| Rich Hood nigga, Pablo Juan nigga |
| You know what the fuck goin' on, nigga |
| True story, no lie, three times |
| 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 |
| Fuck 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 |
| New racks, we do not do leases |
| 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 |
| Fucked every bitch since I fuck '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 fuck 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 |
| Fuck 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 |
| Fuck around, now I get a book of coke a show |
| I got fans out of Indiana, Kokomo |
| BAPE 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 |
| Fuck 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 |
| Fuck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man |