| If it ain’t about paper, it ain’t about me
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| Put too much work in my hustle to die broke on these streets
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| I took some money and invested in some hookers
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| Coca-Cola cookers, dick breakers, purse snatchers
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| Wallet takers, money makers, high-speed chaser cop shakers
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| Anything to stop the chief from tracin' catchin' cases
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| I’m cop racist, tired of seein' their faces
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| Been in the back seat too many times with blackened bracelets
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| Which I don’t give a fuck, y’all wanna see me do bad
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| Cause I get up, get out, get off my ass, stuff duffle bags
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| Sweatin' the doo-rag, yay in the blue bag
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| Jealousy soon as I get down with more than you had
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| Take trips with a bitch a stuff a click up of coke
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| Love y’all but hate cha' city bitches, ya arrogant and broke
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| Quick to pick the jack up, call a crack and send me to Central
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| Use bitches for sex, money, ID’s and rentals
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| One tried to claim the family jewels
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| I told the bitch I’m bad news, this cash rules
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| I sleep with stars on the low
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| Cause they my everyday hoes
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| It’s like I’m scared for em'
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| Fuck around and laugh on em'
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| But I ain’t laugh when we lost all them grams though
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| Cause they know they try to keep em' low but we sprang the door
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| Cell bars can’t stop ours
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| Amateur broads is like movie stars and cinema screen
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| Ol' shorty right there, I been fuckin' her since she was seventeen
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| She a mean twenty-four now
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| Should I jam the broad raw now
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| The dick say yes
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| But the brain say stress
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| If you put on that dress you make a thousand dollars easy
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| Set chu' up with the rich Asians
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| Wanna flash them big faces
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| I wanna clean operation
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| Like ferry ferry freak off
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| Pay for play, pick the broad you wanna slay
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| Do it your way, I’m wait in the doorway
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| Yeah I’m sellin 4-A, doin' it
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| Don’t blow me up, don’t ruin it
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| If it ain’t about money dick, the X ain’t pursuin' it
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| Yo, let me speak some much all
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| For now, we gon' kill the dumb talk
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| Hold ya fort cause I ain’t done
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| And the struggle ain’t fun
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| I done sold crack, done that
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| Sold pack, gotta run
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| Yet I’m down for the coin, I need stacks bigger than Pun
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| Ya understand my man, a nigga wanna see his nights
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| Pop rubber bands if I have to pop rubber man
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| Cause the chips I got can’t take care of my mother and
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| My immediate fam, so I scheme and scam to get some fetti in my hand
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| It done been times when niggas look at Eddie like he petty
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| But these niggas ain’t my men
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| Workin' with birds and can’t throw the kid no grams
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| But you wanna borrow toast when you caught in a jam
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| Niggas’ll scram, stay broke, nah I’mma bounce back
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| Get a couple ounce stacks, take that and bounce that
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| Now I got niggas givin' me eight off of g-packs
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| And if it ain’t about money, it ain’t no need to believe that |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song If... (It Ain't About Paper) , by - Sadat X. Song from the album The State of New York vs. Derek Murphy, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп