| Mario
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| Oh Lord, Jetson made another one
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| I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin' it fast
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| I’m on the way to go get me a bag
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| Bitch, I’m the passenger, you know she bad
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| She got my extras, I’m angry, mad
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| They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs
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| Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass
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| We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz
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| That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab
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| Three different flavors, come purchase some bud
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| Download my tape, I might show you some love
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| Too many plays, I can’t go to the club
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| Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album
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| I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume
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| When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume
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| Cash out with me, you can get a good value
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| Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you
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| She not a horse but she look like a stallion
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| Questioning shit, you just kept the medallion
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| Sewed up the hood, niggas heavily banging
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| Come with that rocket ship, niggas is dying
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| Bit on my face so I look like a lion
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| She backin' up on my dick and she grinding
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| Give me two million or I’m never signing
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| All the designer, I should be a stylist
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| That ho you cuff, she got too much mileage
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| I’m on the plane with the pack in the private
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| I’m burning on loud, nigga, far from quiet
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| Everybody got sticks, nigga, why would you try it?
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| Got my money big feelin', that shit be giant
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| I don’t wanna conversate, I want vagina
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| I build me a bitch like we a science
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| I grow my own food, I’m self-reliant
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| Push up on me, I’ma blow you away
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| Treat a ho like a pistol and throw her away
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| The pack came late, it had to delay
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| She sexy as hell, she bad as fuck
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| She know my ex-bitch mad as fuck
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| I bust down a bale and bag it up
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| Beep, beep, beep, beep
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| Just like a truck, she back it up
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| These niggas used to laugh at us
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| Now they wanna make songs and rap with us
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| I grab me a pound and bag it up
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| Heard your lil' song, it’s wack as fuck
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| I get them racks and stack 'em up
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| I got racks, I keep racks, I got racks, racks, racks
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| I keep young niggas with me and they keep straps, that’s no cap
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| I’m with Money Man, I got rubber bands and they bustin' out my pants
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| Flight to Miami, when I land I got gunners, they got sticks in hand
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| Hot just like a sauna, man
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| Never leave my brother, shit get ugly, I can’t take the stand
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| I ain’t talkin' on the phone, you want a P, you know the fee
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| Wrist cold like the sea, Eskimo, 1017
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| My son got Gucci carseat, my bitch in love with Birkin B
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| I’m the boss, they work for me
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| They say talk is cheap, but if I’m talkin', ain’t talkin' cheap
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| My whole hood bettin' on me
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| I got racks on me, I keep racks on me
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| Nigga wanna know the rest, then bitch, get in your bag
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| I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin' it fast
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| I’m on the way to go get me a bag
|
| Bitch, I’m the passenger, you know she bad
|
| She got my extras, I’m angry, mad
|
| They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs
|
| Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass
|
| We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz
|
| That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab
|
| Three different flavors, come purchase some bud
|
| Download my tape, I might show you some love
|
| Too many plays, I can’t go to the club
|
| Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album
|
| I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume
|
| When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume
|
| Cash out with me, you can get a good value
|
| Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Blow You Away , by - Money Man. Song from the album Paranoia, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп