NoFace Records - Bout My Money

(Yaa Yaa!)

Verse 1: Double Time

Watch the motion. (Pause)

We out in Houston, whipping the potion.

Look at the corner, Ocky locking up the gate.

Motherfuckers starving, gotta get it on the plate.

Hundred bands in the duffle, I don't shuffle with a mook.

Moving silent in the trenches, dodging every dirty look.

Bag stacking, tag lacking, motherfuckers acting tough.

Check the wrist, Richard Mille, yeah the motion never bluff.

(Deep breath)

Flipping the pack and I'm doubling back and I'm stacking the cash to the ceiling!

Killing the track and I'm stating the facts, man, I don't give a fuck how you feeling!

(Grrrrr!)

Back to the basics.

Running the city, we tying the laces.

Getting the bag, it's a daily routine.

I want the Cartier shining so clean.

I just want the bag, on God!

I just need the cash, no cap!

All these motherfuckers talking trash...

While I'm pulling up the Porsche to the trap!

We got the motion, motion, motion.

Swimming in the money like the ocean.

Yeah, I'm 'bout my money.

Yeah, I'm 'bout my money.

Verse 2: Double Time

(Skrrt!)

Let me tell you 'bout Tommy. (Pause)

Boy was a crashout.

Thinking he a boss, taking the fast route.

Moving reckless in Atlanta, sipping Wock up out the cup.

Fucking with a treesh, thought he had it going up.

Flashing racks, spitting facts? Nah, the fucker acting fake.

Now he swimming with the fishes at the bottom of the lake.

(Deep breath)

Gotta be smart when you playing the part, 'cause the opps always watching the pockets!

Taking the shot like a rocket, locking it down and you know I won't drop it!

(Explosive)

I TOLD HIM!

Get the money, stay low!

But these motherfuckers always want a show!

Hopped out the Rolls-Royce, valid on the block.

Check the Patek, we ain't staring at the clock.

He fumbled the bag for a baddie.

Now he looking at the sky, screaming for his daddy.

I just want the bag, on God!

I just need the cash, no cap!

All these motherfuckers talking trash...

While I'm pulling up the Porsche to the trap!

We got the motion, motion, motion.

Swimming in the money like the ocean.

Yeah, I'm 'bout my money.

Yeah, I'm 'bout my money.

Verse 3:

(Huh...)

It's cold outside. (Pause)

Lost too many homies on this ride.

Look at the neighborhood.

Same corners, ain't nobody doing good.

Chasing the paper, we bleeding for paper, the trauma is deep in the brain.

Motherfuckers smiling, but hiding the pain.

I went to Turks and Caicos. (Pause)

Just to clear my mind.

But the demons always creeping up behind.

Is the money worth the soul?

Watch the homie catch a charge, take a toll.

Fucker got twenty years, all over a bag.

Now his momma crying, holding onto a rag.

Real situations.

Street observations.

Keep your circle tight.

Get the money right.

(Bet Dat)