Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Money To Blow, artist - Young Scooter. Album song The Recipe, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.12.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: BMG Rights Management (US), Reckless Republic
Song language: English
Money To Blow |
Cook that shit up, Quay |
Yeah, Quay cooked this shit up, man |
Pablo Juan cooked that shit up, man |
Roll up the dope, gold on my rope |
Gotta stay in school young nigga, get hoes |
Go get that money and fuck on your ho |
Take off the plug and it gon' go for the low |
Pint come sealed, I just poured up a four |
Fuck your career, I got money to blow |
Rich in the hood, I got bricks of the coke |
Ain’t gotta tell us shit, they already know |
Real in the trap, this ain’t no fairytale |
Bricks and bails, I keep breaking my scale |
I cook with the mask, I can’t stand the smell |
If your clique locked up, nigga I know you 'gon tell |
My shooters they ready, I pay 'em well |
Let my young niggas 'gon catch it and make a sale |
Diapers and baby bottles its a daycare |
Trap out the house, bitch, you know we don’t stay there |
Come to the trap, have your money ready |
I’m cookin' it in the pot like spaghetti |
Havin' raw dope, nigga this shit deadly |
Three choppers with me like Ed, Edd n Eddy |
I just want numbers, the fetty, them pesos |
Dope good like they was tastin' the rainbow |
Don’t give no fuck, I’ma fuck on your main ho |
Bad 'lil foreign bitch, I think she albino |
I done got rich but I’m still on the same road |
Workin' two burners with the pot, Django |
Racks in my skinnys, addicted to bank rolls |
I know you wish you was a nigga, you ain’t though |
Still in the trap, I ain’t changed clothes |
Try me, I guarantee you get your brains blowed |
Gimme that head and that pussy, no anal |
Better have the pies, nigga I sell it, case closed |
One thing I never did is pay hoes |
Can’t pay attention to these niggas, they hoes |
Check my resume I’m straight out the bowl |
Reppin' that dope, had to call out the hole |
He started snitchin' we call him a mole |
Stuffin' the bricks in the back of the store |
Pablo the plug, bitch, don’t ask what I sold |
I jump in the foreign and roll up the dope |
Roll up the dope, gold on my rope |
Gotta stay in school young nigga, get hoes |
Go get that money and fuck on your ho |
Take off the plug and it gon' go for the low |
Pint come sealed, I just poured up a four |
Fuck your career, I got money to blow |
Rich in the hood, I got bricks of the coke |
Ain’t gotta tell us shit, they already know |
Real in the trap, this ain’t no fairytale |
Bricks and bails, I keep breaking my scale |
I cook with the mask, I can’t stand the smell |
If your clique locked up, nigga I know you 'gon tell |
My shooters they ready, I pay 'em well |
Let my young niggas 'gon catch it and make a sale |
Diapers and baby bottles its a daycare |
Trap out the house, bitch, you know we don’t stay there |
Young Scooter, Pablo Juan, and we making' moves like Pablo (Jugg) |
Aston with the rose gold rims, and I got a Murcielago (Foreign) |
We put the pounds on the road, and we put the bricks on the cargo (Yeah) |
Anything I motherfuckin' say, I bet the street niggas follow (Street) |
Free Ralo, spin the nigga’s block with the fully-auto (Brrat) |
I got all this water on, I might need goggles () |
Pay the bitch extra she swallow, fuckin' bad bitches, models |
We go full throttle (Count up), pop a hundred bottles (Flex) |
Me and Pablo Juan, we get bails out the foreign (Jugg) |
I put the streets on curfew, I’m 'bout to set the alarm (For real) |
No less than fifty racks, each watch I put on my arms (Count up) |
All I rap about is dope 'cause thats the way I was born (Street!) |
Roll up the dope, gold on my rope |
Gotta stay in school young nigga, get hoes |
Go get that money and fuck on your ho |
Take off the plug and it gon' go for the low |
Pint come sealed, I just poured up a four |
Fuck your career, I got money to blow |
Rich in the hood, I got bricks of the coke |
Ain’t gotta tell us shit, they already know |
Real in the trap, this ain’t no fairytale |
Bricks and bails, I keep breaking my scale |
I cook with the mask, I can’t stand the smell |
If your clique locked up, nigga I know you 'gon tell |
My shooters they ready, I pay 'em well |
Let my young niggas 'gon catch it and make a sale |
Diapers and baby bottles its a daycare |
Trap out the house, bitch, you know we don’t stay there |