| Stackin' paper like I’m Tony
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| I get money call me Sconnie
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| Fuck the haters and the phonies
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| Cause the rollie on me really why they want me
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| Pockets fatter with a dope boy, belly like I’m eating ravioli
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| Riding Maserati cause the force is with me like I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi
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| If you say that you get it you better show me
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| I tell 'em get the fuck back if you didn’t know me
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| And if ever your bitch be all up on me
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| I’ma take her to the telly, you never gon' leave her lonely
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| Now she fuckin' with it heavy, forever she’ll be my homie
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| Legendary like I’m Kobe
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| Smoke a backwood while she blow me
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| Whip the work and call it Toby
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| Niggas talkin' yadda-yadda-yadda
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| I don’t give a fuck, I got a lot of dollars
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| Breakin' down a zip in back of my Impala
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| Making all the bitches holla-holla-holla
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| I don’t give a fuck, if you ain’t with the team
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| I got them shotta’s off of that promethazine
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| Gettin' rich is real not just a dream
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| I get to the mula by whatever means
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| Stackin' paper like I’m Goldie
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| I ain’t fuckin' with the phonies
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| Just because you see me out, don’t mean we homies
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| Don’t be actin' like you know me
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| Exotic cars goin' vroom-vroom-vroom-vroom
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| Hundred bands on me
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| If it unique, it only got two seats, room for one bitch only
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| That shit you be talkin' be too irrelevant
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| I got on diamonds that’s lookin' elegant
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| Got a good house so I got to get me some medicine
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| You say you got the vibe but you be fuckin' with my intelligence
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| And if I don’t got nothin'
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| We smoking it for the hell of it
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| I got a connect and he from Connecticut
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| Fuckin' with hoes with proper etiquette
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| Niggas be missin' me with the rhetoric
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| Stackin' paper like I’m Pablo
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| Be hyped the homie call him Ralo
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| Make a hit up out of fifth Hennessy and snatch a up out the bottle
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| Tellin' me to slow the pace and throw the race
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| But I be goin' full throttle
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| On my dick it got a model
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| Turkey neck it goin' gobble-gobble-gobble
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| And she got them lips looking like Angela
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| And them legs is opening, a tarantula
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| Talkin' shit I be sprayin' them like a canister
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| If not then I’ll be throwin' your body over the banister
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| Then later I’ma go out partyin' with your manager
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| Cause I’m feelin' kind of cocky
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| Get you killed and do it sloppy
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| Then get some champagne from papi
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| Niggas out here thinkin' that they shooters
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| Off a molly, I can do it off a booter
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| Who the fuck you think you is if you ain’t Hoover
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| It don’t matter to me cause I got the ruger
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| Watch I blast the meat up out your taco
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| Track a nigga down for money like a narco
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| Got 'em out here callin' me they capo
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| Bust and flee the scene like I’m El Chapo
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| Stackin' paper like I’m Goldie
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| I ain’t fuckin' with the phonies
|
| Just because you see me out, don’t mean we homies
|
| Don’t be actin' like you know me
|
| Exotic cars goin' vroom-vroom-vroom-vroom
|
| Hundred bands on me
|
| If it unique, it only got two seats, room for one bitch only
|
| That shit you be talkin' be too irrelevant
|
| I got on diamonds that’s lookin' elegant
|
| Got a good house so I got to get me some medicine
|
| You say you got the vibe but you be fuckin' with my intelligence
|
| And if I don’t got nothin'
|
| We smoking it for the hell of it
|
| I got a connect and he from Connecticut
|
| Fuckin' with hoes with proper etiquette
|
| Niggas be missin' me with the rhetoric |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Stackin Paper , by - Twista. Song from the album Crook County, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп