Hudební video
Kredity
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Junk
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Ian Tonino
Composer
Texty
This is where like hip-hop really came from, it's like for real
Like, not like pop, not jazz walking around with a buncha chains on, fakin' it
Pretending, like it's real (it's real), it isn't
This is the culture, it's full of culture
Hey, hey, someone out here, tell me, what the fuck do I got to do?
What the fuck do I got to do, hoo?
Hey, hey, lately everything that I do got me so confused
'Cause everything is
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (yeah)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (uh-huh)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (ooh)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (yuh, yuh)
Uh, fuck I got to do, to get 500 thousand motherfuckin' views
Thought I had to be up in the booth, work hard
Guess not, guess I'll get another couple tattoos
Buy a couple coupes
Load a deuce, deuce in the club, shoot, shoot everyone that's proof
That I am the truth
Wait, I'm so confused, do I gotta sip lean, do Xan', sip Goose?
Who told me to act like this
Cop that gold and the platinum wrist
Feel so alone with the cash I spent
Smack them hoes and then call them bitch (bitch)
I do not want to contribute to that
I switched it up how I did it with rap
All these kids do is just listen to trap
So I give them the music with lyrics attached
Uh, yeah, that's my shit, bars over trap, I'ma rap like this
Should I talk 'bout crack or the packs I flipped?
Wait, that's not me, but if I don't do that I can't eat, so
Back to I'm rich, got a million dollars
I'm out here drinking that gin with the tonic
Crystal, I'm popping like Christopher Wallace
Women want they me vanilla or chocolate
As I sit in my 'Rari
If there's a problem, this pistol I'm cocking
I'm king of New York, I am Christopher Walken
All this shit that I'm talking, got me tripping more than a crip is in Brompton
I think the whole system is toxic, guess for them this shit is mission accomplished
Hey, hey, someone out here, tell me, what the fuck do I got to do?
What the fuck do I got to do, hoo?
Hey, hey, lately everything that I do got me so confused
'Cause everything is
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (yeah)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (uh-huh)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (ooh)
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls (yuh, yuh)
Uh, guess I'm purchasing some jewelry
And copping brand name T-shirts as if I'm searching for somethin' worthy, but
That's not the right call like Ferguson Missouri was
Watching that shit, thinking of murdering the jury, but
I cannot be a political rapper, I got to be chilling with killers and trappers
A part of me think that this shit doesn't matter
The other part say it's the industry standard, so
Either con-form, so you can pop off like pop-corn
Cop Ralph Lauren, rock Tom Ford, then lose it all just like Scott Storch
You getting fucked but you can't see it
Soft porn lying to us all writings on the wall, chalkboard
I kept it ghetto, keep my money in my sock drawer
There's no contenders, no above me, I'm the top score
So it's back to perc and mollys, vision blurry, purple sprite so dirty
Throw detergent on me, random women twerking on me
Guess the shit is working perfectly, that's ergonomics
I stick to me, y'all slur your words too much, you purple zombies
Hey, hey, someone out here, tell me, what the fuck do I got to do?
What the fuck do I got to do, hoo?
Hey, hey, lately everything that I do got me so confused
'Cause everything is
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Money, drugs, guns and girls
Writer(s): Ian Tonino
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com