| Told you we was gon' be rich
|
| And stack my chips
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I don’t know what I spent
|
| Make me wanna cop that Benz
|
| Ride around the town with no tint
|
| Cash in the bag we lit
|
| Smashed and then got in that 'Vette
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I ain’t got no friends
|
| Tom Ford all over my lens
|
| Got racks in my pants
|
| Ride with a FN
|
| Got steel like Pakistan
|
| I flew 'cross the map again
|
| Got shows and I got fans
|
| Gotta count them racks again
|
| I ain’t hide my safe in the attic
|
| Smoke weed, sip lean, eat molly, pop xan bitch
|
| Please don’t panic
|
| Got a Glock 19 black matte
|
| Gotta ride with that static
|
| Lil Duke with a iced out Patek
|
| YSL getting green like salad
|
| Gunna got a flow, can’t get it
|
| Fucking on all these bitches
|
| My diamonds wash all the dishes
|
| You niggas can’t reinvent me
|
| Pull up in that foreign, foreign, foreign at the Weston
|
| Fucking on a pedestrian
|
| I got these bitches desperate
|
| Told you we was gon' be rich
|
| And stack my chips
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I don’t know what I spent
|
| Make me wanna cop that Benz
|
| Ride around the town with no tint
|
| Cash in the bag we lit
|
| Smashed and then got in that 'Vette
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I ain’t got no friends
|
| Tom Ford all over my lens
|
| Got racks in my pants
|
| Ride with a FN
|
| Got steel like Pakistan
|
| I flew 'cross the map again
|
| Got shows and I got fans
|
| Gotta count them racks again
|
| Told you lil' niggas that we gon' be rich
|
| Run that shit up so much, don’t make no sense
|
| Used to ride now pull up in Benz
|
| Sipping on lean 'bout to fuck up my kidneys
|
| Since a young nigga, been getting it
|
| Quick to turn 10 to a 20
|
| All of these bad bitches they on my dick, I got plenty
|
| Selling out shows and winning
|
| This foreign on me got tint
|
| Riding with a bad lil' bitch
|
| Hop on the highway, she suck on my dick
|
| Diamonds on me and they looking like piss
|
| Mama I told you that we gon' be rich
|
| Gotta keep it real and can’t ever switch
|
| I had to stack up my chips
|
| Stuck in the streets, came up off a lick
|
| I had to stay down, stay in my own lane
|
| Mama she told me, «don't go against the grain»
|
| Knew what I been through, you can’t feel my pain
|
| Keep it so real that shit run through my vein
|
| Made myself a boss and made me a name
|
| Work in the trap, make the trap go insane
|
| And ain’t a damn thing changed, ah
|
| Told you we was gon' be rich
|
| And stack my chips
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I don’t know what I spent
|
| Make me wanna cop that Benz
|
| Ride around the town with no tint
|
| Cash in the bag we lit
|
| Smashed and then got in that 'Vette
|
| So much money don’t make no sense
|
| I ain’t got no friends
|
| Tom Ford all over my lens
|
| Got racks in my pants
|
| Ride with a FN
|
| Got steel like Pakistan
|
| I flew 'cross the map again
|
| Got shows and I got fans
|
| Gotta count them racks again |