| I’m sky ballin', a young California pimp
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| Loungin' in a stretch Bently sittin low on the tents
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| Iced down, draped an dipped hittin bomb weed (bomb weed)
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| Servin' on stega shrimp, sippin' Dom P (Dom P)
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| Lavishly cordinated
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| Savagely corporated
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| On casino, Mr. Gambino’s Mobb affiliated
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| The world is mine, that’s what I read on a blimp
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| Playin cops I’m a robber with blue prints to the mint
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| Didn’t leave no evidence, went back to, my residence
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| Snatch the Benjamin’s, an all the other dead presidents
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| My hoochies like to toss me the coochie
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| Floss me in Gucci
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| But groupies would never cost me no Loochie
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| What I look like?
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| Givin' a hoe all my doe, like she wrote all my flows
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| Bitch I’m all-pro
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| You be the same hoe, on the stroll makin' me mo dinero
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| So tip-toe through the rain, sleet an snow
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| I gotta get my Money Over Bitches
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| They want the money, I want my riches
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| Quinnton mania, hoes I’m tamin' ya
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| Never praisin ya, never payin ya
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| Nothin' mo than attention
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| Havin' paper is an addiction
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| Your not bringin additions
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| Then subtract yo self from my jurisdictions
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| This is how I see it
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| My crew we be the cleanest
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| Pushin' Benzes and Beamers
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| These hoes ain’t pleased to meet us
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| Pass us Master Cards an Visas
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| Illegal searches
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| We smokin' roaches with no crutches
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| Bitches we cope, from bein' broke and do it like a hustla a
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| Ain’t no friends we all cousins
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| Baby networkin'
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| Money ain’t nothin'
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| You got it all? |
| You need to quit perpin'
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| A quarter million wouldn’t satisfy me
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| I be a Master like P
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| And I act like Luni
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| Only God can do me
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| Burn a crutch with doobie, approach smoothly
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| Only ladies with paper amuse me, an broke hoes choose me
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| But lose bein' in a pursuit of tryin to talk
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| For the conversation of fuck you and shit bitch it’s goin to cost
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| I got 2 for 1, from Ya-yo to in-do
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| Paper now, hoes later, the tradition in Fil-mo
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| Dime-els, bricks of Ya-yo, coke dealers, crack sales
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| Niggas that tell on Big Willies
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| Young killas, bitches that jock, look at 'em stare
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| Got 'em choosin, got hoes droolin' on a playa
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| My gold teeth glare, shinnin' like cheese goin «Bling»
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| Knock Out Playa, K-O-P in the street
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| I fuck with big timers, ridin' sideways with young thugs
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| Don’t manipulise, of Fil-mo hood nudge
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| Shake hood slugs, make hood drugs
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| Never could, never would a nigga hoe trust
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| Money Over Bitches
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| Trust a bitch I never would
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| Hoe I’m too major
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| Havin' paper like Tiger Woods
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| Famous in the Mo
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| Rob from the rich and slang Ya-yo to the poor
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| Flippin', manipulate a dumb hoe
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| For way mo'
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| I tell 'em BIA-TCH!
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| I love ballin', how could I be tired of bein' rich?
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| Been off the hook so long, got disconnected unexpected
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| And you niggas is wrong for payin' hoes an hoe protectin' |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Money Now , by - San Quinn. Song from the album Explosive Mode, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп