Gettin Money lyrics

[20 seconds instrumental intro]

[Verse 1]
I'm tired of n*ggas thinkin' they Sylvester
But now you prob'ly thinkin' which one
sh*t, Rambo, Rocky, pick one (ooh!)
I'm in the seven star telly
And the room key come with a butler
If you bring her, you gon' f*ck her (boo!)
I'm a playa, I use my rules the two-thousand-and-five
2 Live Crew's in the Moulin Rouge (yeah!)
When I party, I tend to get a few long screws
So I'm in the V.I.P with the two long Ruges (uh-huh!)
You stupid to go against us, 'cause you gon' loose
We got bullets, the size of newborn shoes (wooo!)
And I'm connected around the board, so the Southside chiefs
Out in Ca$hville nothin' 'bout steel and gold-teeth (whattup?)
You ain't got to know Hip-Hop to know 'bout this (uh-uh!)
Entrepre-n*gga with the poke-out wrist (yeah!)
Give me the dice, I f*ck around and throw 'bout six
And be the reason you roll out p*ss, I'm buyin' Cris' with this
(Yeeeeeeeah!) I'm from the slum, so this is pitched
To the lil' n*ggas that never got a Christmas gift
Give me a minute to hear me out
So clear my name from the bullsh*t (uh-huh!)
'Cause gettin' money what I'm really 'bout
And chinchilla when it's chilly out (uh!)
Rollin' up a phillie blunt, pay attention to how I really stunt (woo!)
Either you gangsta or really drunk
f*ck what ya heard, my clique run the city, chump (chump)
[Instrumental break]

[Verse 2]
Allow me to display excellence
Poppa caught a nut, momma had a son and I've been this way ever since (wooo!)
You know, head full of negligence
Hell-a high dog in the bing over b*tch-made evidence
My whole hood on the chase for the dead presidents
'Cause ain't nuttin' out here, check, check out my residence
Man I'm the best, nothin' more nothin' less
But I will be the greatest when I back-off my hiatus (g'eah!)
My neighborhood's good but I don't wave to my neighbors
They wouldn't see it anyway, they 'bout a block away, HEY!
My flow is rawer than Columbian yay'
I'm like the MJ in his day; hungry to play
And the level-7 Suburban there come with a 'K
It's on-road off-road, put your Hummers away, okay?
Come swingin' you'll be bleedin' from the gun
'Cause I ain't tryna wrestle not even with my thumb (OH!)
I went to hot Cancun from freezin' in the slum
Half done, off Bacardi Breezers with the rum (WOOO!)
I ain't never been a cuddlier she's leavin' when I come
Like Deebo on his bike: "Spend the evening with your son!"
You ain't leavin' with a crumb, b*tch I'm from the hood, ya heard?
Violate, I wish you would you bird
Y'all don't want it with the Boy Wonder
That'll only get you in a rumble
Crawlin' on the floor like a fumble, n*gga