Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Money Don't Make U Rich, artist - Hi-Tek. Album song Hi-teknology - Volume 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 16.10.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Money Don't Make U Rich |
No talkin don’t pay the rent |
And sittin won’t let you style like this |
But money don’t make you rich |
But hatin won’t let you smile |
Yeah, the Teknology is too advanced |
Attach dynomite to opportunity, blow your chance |
Enhance the vision, Kweli tell 'em to listen |
Before I probably get a hundred niggas to diss 'em |
Yeah, and I can’t wait, sit up straight |
Hungry niggas eatin your plate, compete in a race |
Full of rats, the homie’s torso is full of tats |
I’mma put the rest on my back, it’s best if I, bless 'em with that |
Specify the facts from the fiction |
I gotta draw the line with the diction |
And I ain’t whistlin, Dixie; |
this is Hi-Teknology wit me |
You couldn’t find a finer designer to tailor fit me |
To be, yay a nigga Tone, Cincinnati’s own |
Hometown favorite like the Bearcats win the zone |
Strong Arm keep it runnin on like a sentence |
They wouldn’t know the difference when I hit 'em from a distance |
Clack, conventional (bullshit) nothin identical |
The West has evolved and Steady’s, at the pinnacle (yeah dat) |
Still saggin in my crispy Dickies |
But my gangsta’s fly, I make sho' the wrist is extra crystal-y |
Cock it on the side for the next telly is |
Ghetto nigga on Lambo’s mailin list |
Money don’t make you rich |
But it’s funny how it’ll make a snow bunny suck your dick |
I have a hater in the shrubs where you park your shit |
I had a homie blowin you up when he hit the fence |
To the Steady, Slick bring the gangsta shit |
Like the hankerchief, once you add on the Paisley print |
On the rights where I dang a lick |
But since I learned red and blue make green it’s Tek hits |
It’s the premier kids cast to build the pyramids |
A '08 Escalade’s in prepaid appearances |
It’s hard to even entertain a few, an invalid |
Lame in the brain can’t talk or remember shit |
I don’t blame him — the daddy ain’t around |
Left him lonely in the hood without good home trainin |
Frustrated, pissed cause probation |
Got him pissin in a cup without proper occupation |
So they — get up, get out, and get it like Goodie Mob |
Niggas must be crazy thinkin we won’t do the job |
Dookie colored droptops sob, with the feet tall |
Hi-Tek beats bump from Lynn Street to Crenshaw |
Steady means stupid stand up, start elevatin |
Violate and come to your final destination |
Mouth pacin — Pacific Ocean main land |
Chasin retail, re-up in rotation |