Credits
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Diamonds and Jewels, violent and cool
Few murder cases, they all hit the news
Look at you fools, look at my jewels
Diamonds on diamonds, they keepin' me cool
Gucci my swag, Gucci my shoes
My baby mother, I Gucci her too
Twenty-fifth hour on the plain
[Verse 2]
Fuck it
Yeah
ER
C Biz
We're ready to fuck your mother
Yeah
[Verse 3]
D-D-Diamonds and Jewels, Violent and cool
Few murder cases, they all hit the news
Look at you fools, look at my jewels
Diamonds on diamonds, they keepin' me cool
Gucci my swag, Gucci my shoes
My baby mother, I Gucci her too
Twenty-fifth hour on the plain Jane
'Cause you're broke you can't do the same thing
Look at that watch it's a pass-down
When it ain't even costing the same change
Thirty-five thou for a brick of coke
And it's comin' right here, that could get you smoked
I thought them **** was gettin' dope
Now the drama's hit, them **** lookin' broke
Endo, bando, doin' hella flips
Watch a federale while I'm blowing smoke
[Verse 4]
Whoa, count up the dough
Call up some hoes, it's a money patrol
Flipping them bricks, shout out to Al Pacino 'cause we rich
What's with the sticks? Those my lil' bro's, so they might hit a lick
F-f-fuck was the point, didn't he just tell you to front him a brick?
[Verse 5]
Call me a prick, he could talk to my clip
If the bitch ain't a nine she could talk to my (Whoa)
Talk on my mic, what's with the lights?
Instagram pictures, you know that's a hype
You want my dough? I ain't get tight
Pull over my whip, r-ride like a bike
Jump on my stick, d-don't get it stitched
Money marching like my pocket's on fire
Bitch, this is a hit I-I-I just made six from a flip
Mask on my face when I'm whipping the brick
My phone keeps on ringing it's making me sick
My pockets are chunky, the money is thick
I pose for a picture and it's making you sick
You look in the mirror, your life is a bitch
I'm fucking your wife and your wife is my bitch
[Verse 6]
Whoa, count up the dough
Call up some hoes, it's a money patrol
Count up them bricks, shout out to Al Pacino 'cause we rich
What's with this dick? those my lil' bro's so they might hit a lick
F-f-fuck was the point, didn't he just tell you to front him a brick?
[Verse 7]
C-call me a prick he could talk to my stick
If the bitch ain't a nine she could talk to my (Whoa)
Talk on my mic, what's with the hype?
Instagram pictures, you know that's a lie
You might be my type just for a night
She was a thot she could not be my wife
Bit on the side, on the side of my bitch
I might Rollie her wrist and send her on a flight
[Verse 8]
Whoa, count up the dough
Money patrol
Flipping them bricks
Al Pacino, 'cause we rich
What's with the stick
Hit it lit
Count out the dough
