We Do It For Fun Pt. 8

Yeah
Joker
Piss excellence
Shit on track
Sixty five million views

Numbers don't lie and neither do I
Milky Way bars, all them shits fly
Wow, oh my, girls fall from the sky
'Cause all that's in my pocket is Barley and Rye

Making love to the money
Apple of my eyes
Bitch, I do numbers
Basketball Wives
You hear the track, but all I hear is dinner bells
Fruit keeps 'em comin', so a nigga eating well

Since you hot
I'm a heat annex
Retarded in this bitch, birth defects
I be doing these chicks, like Checkers
Jump two and I never go backwards

Money is my outfit
Kush is my fragrance
Bitch I'm in the building, you ain't even part of maintenance
Stainless, that my outfit untainted
Money makes the meanest girls get acquainted

And they touch
And they kiss
My hoes cold
Yo hoes brick
I be murdering this shit, I act a fool
That's why my money tall like Spice Girl shoes

Kush got me sweating
Headband
Rack for the kill
Headband
Never had a deal, independent
My hood in the air, hot engine

Joe pass the blunt like, Joker go get 'em
On that green crack, Tyrone Biggums
Casual today, but I'm a G for life
Flippin' these hoes, U-N-I-T-Y

I keep some angel soft every time I'm recording
The studio is a bathroom, the booth is my porcelain
Married to the money and we not divorcing
And if it tries to leave I'll be absent to court and

Hit me back, I got a show in Vancouver
You make moves
I make maneuvers
You talk shit and you sit at home and hate
But I'll be somewhere trying to find my K

Look into my brain, bet I'm thinking dollar signs
I like large bills, you can't change my mind
Sipping on promethazine to quench my thirst
You Pacific and I'm Eastern, so I get what first

On a paper chase
'Til my shoes worn
Getting high in this bitch 'til the roof torn
Cold on a hot track, call it lukewarm
Now I'm out this bitch
New born



Credits
Writer(s): Unknown Composer Author, Jade Lavon Harris
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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