Lyrics Money Maker - Waka Flocka Flame

Money Maker

I’m a money maker, you could see it in my eyes\nYou could tell by my swag, try me, you might die\nFrom my mama to my friends, I’ma fucking ride\nI’m from the 'Dale, dear Lord, this my testify\nKnown in Atlanta for going hard and shooting hammers\nIf I lie in my raps, lock me in the slammer\nRaised by a woman, no daddy, dead brother\nWaka Flocka Flame, a stupid ass motherfucker\nGreen diamond-ass bird, I’m watch me swerve\nNiggas slick talking, hating on me, tell them watch the work\nOffset rims and candy paint, I used to get it off the curb\nAnd a hand trick, I told you I’m about that, shawty, that’s my word\nTo the West Coast, Midwest, and East Coast\nDown South to New York, outlined in chalk\nYodi got the 40, my little bousin on it\nRed Range, I’m storming, that’s a woman\nThey say a nigga gangsta, I’m rapping like Eazy-E\nThey say a nigga gangsta, I’m rapping like Gucci\nThey say a nigga gangsta 'cause all I do is hang with hood niggas\nWaka Flocka Flame, you can call me that young rich nigga\nI’m a money maker, you could see it in my eyes\nYou could tell by my swag, try me, you might die\nFrom my mama to my friends, I’ma fucking ride\nI’m from the 'Dale, dear Lord, this my testify\nKnown in Atlanta for going hard and shooting hammers\nIf I lie in my raps, lock me in the slammer\nRaised by a woman, no daddy, dead brother\nWaka Flocka Flame, a stupid ass motherfucker\nI’m in the studio, smoking blunts, reading Corner Store\nBut at the corner store, a nigga’s selling onions, bowl\nI used to trap, but I never pushed the blocks\nClayton County, Riverdale, ask about that block\nBack then, bro trying to push a vick of coke\nWhite folks want me dead, hanging by a rope\nI gotta lead my generation, call me Flocka Pope\nDisrespect Bricksquad, then I’m looking for the scope\nI’m a money maker, you could see it in my eyes\nYou could tell I’m swagging, you gon' motherfucking die\nPut that shit on Blood, you gon' motherfucking die\nWhen my little brother died, I ain’t motherfucking cry\nI’m a money maker, you could see it in my eyes\nYou could tell by my swag, try me, you might die\nFrom my mama to my friends, I’ma fucking ride\nI’m from the 'Dale, dear Lord, this my testify\nKnown in Atlanta for going hard and shooting hammers\nIf I lie in my raps, lock me in the slammer\nRaised by a woman, no daddy, dead brother\nWaka Flocka Flame, a stupid ass motherfucker\nDear Lord, why these niggas hating?\nDear Lord, why these niggas Flocka-hating?\nI’m just trying to get some money, trying to run my bands up\nfucking robbery, shawty, put your hands up\nIf you fucking with me, smoking thug with me\nin me, Joe with me, mix it all with\nFlocka jumped out the pot, that at sever\nI swear to keep it three hundred if I go to Heaven\nBig ass rims on the Chevy, got the hoes chewing\n33 inch rims, I’m riding Patrick Ewing\n«Flocka, what you doing?» Keeping it hood, nigga\n«Flocka, what you moving?» A little wraps, nigga\nI’m a money maker, you could see it in my eyes\nYou could tell by my swag, try me, you might die\nFrom my mama to my friends, I’ma fucking ride\nI’m from the 'Dale, dear Lord, this my testify\nKnown in Atlanta for going hard and shooting hammers\nIf I lie in my raps, lock me in the slammer\nRaised by a woman, no daddy, dead brother\nWaka Flocka Flame, a stupid ass motherfucker