Jay-z - Mo Money

Song Rating: 8.72/10

Song lyrics:

That n***a let his f**in flow go
n***az tryin to switch up the flows on n***az
Hit n***az, slip n***az with a micky
Drop that joint

Yeah yeah (its the remix whyall)
Like a muhf**er (oh yeah)
Wha**up my n***a (and still hot up in that boy, aint it man)
(Yo Jay, Kel, fin ta set it off for whyall)
seemon

Its, the, remix
TrackMaster remix whyall, Kels and Jigga
Big chips with Twista whyall, get this money

I, heard the ballers when I pulled up to the club
Cause Im rollin up on fo flickers
Peanut-butter interior, black body
And in case you didnt know, I be the Twista
Hundred bombs in my pockets, put your ones up
I hear some n***az lookin at me for the come up
Try to creep creep, I pull a gun up
I put a hole in the first n***a that run up
The ballers be Jay, are, and T
Spit it cold cause the music is a part of me
Cant nobody spit it fast as me
Got an academy of haters comin after me
I know I got what you want, I know I got what you need
Come and mob to the top before you get, this, money

Pull up on the block in the alien gray Bentley
Full of sport modes, you never could hang with me
Just to get in early, I paid a extra 50
Gettin that money my n***a
Oh-five Chrysler, trees for the blunts
Three hoes in the back, two fiends in the front
Twenty-two inch shoes, CVs in the trunk
Gettin that money my n***a
Makin dough off a style I be the best in
Glad to be down with these two livin legends
Now let me see which league Ima invest in
Gettin that money my n***a
Rollin this cheer, put the n***az in fear
Makin b**hes shed tears, take a look at my career
Now the sh**s swell; when I get up to 70 in the Coupe
Peep the wing when I hope out the tail - tell em Kel

[Chorus]
We off up in the club, we got our hands up
Drinks in the club because we gettin that money my n***a


We rollin 24s, open them Bentley dos
Got plenty hoes because we gettin that money my n***a

Pull up to the club, chicks in the back
Some smokin on weed, some sippin Co-gnac
Into the club, whole crew to the back
Super the stars make it sharp as a tack
Gotta have my forty-five inch in it
In the house, from the gate, twenty minutes
Game over and Im still not finished
I play haters like V play tennis
Livin like a motherf**in Richie Rich n***a
Got a butler for my Maybach n***a
White linen, smokin ci-gar
Lyrics like bullets, tongue like a trigger
Feelin on your booty
Tryin to get one of these nice ladies
to come up to my room and do, me
Have her man like whos, he
Was a pimp at birth, first ho was a nurse
And Ima be a pimp til Im stretches in a hearse
Sometimes showbiz is the worst
Im blessed with The Gift & The Curse, whoa
Shoot ball, now Im off to the spa
Fresh and clean, now Im off in the car
Got a date with a superstar
We take lunch, now twelve oclock
Hit the mall bout two oclock
In the movies bout five oclock
Seven oclock til nine oclock
we in my crib, my bed, goin non-stop
This for my project n***az, widebody Mo sippers
Pimps hustlers herb flippers, get, this, money

[Chorus]

Gettin this money switchin my whips and my kicks
Like Im just addicted to difference you pick what you want from me
To be a, lame with visions of riches, enter my brain
Like I picture myself in deep dishes, just switchin lanes
Its just insane, is it? Im from the district where n***az
either in prison or pay visits like in-laws
So we fend for ourself, and the wealth is in raw
We cant help but been lost, what else gon make that engine roar?
Lay back in 745, big boy cars, thats all we drive
Into the club we get all the eyes when you gettin that money my n***a

[Chorus]

TrackMaster remix whyall, Kels and Jigga
Big chips with Twista whyall, get this money

Date of text publication: 18.01.2021 at 14:42