Big Money
Big Money
Don Cannon
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Rich Homie baby!
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
Cul-de-sac money, I got nosey neighbors
A couple packs comin', I'm at the store waitin'
Kill the fat onion, got some more paper
I keep the strap gunnin', I'm makin' dope wages
Your folks hatin', I got more paper
Your clothes basic, you see my ho tailored
All that makeup make your ho look made up
Cul-de-sac shoe strings got the hood laced up
I'm at the corner shootin' like a Pacer
"Reggie Miller I shoot a nigga face up"
And I like getting head cause I'm aimin' waist up
And if you owe me, better pay up
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
I'm gettin' all this paper, A$AP money
And I'm fuckin' all these bitches, I can't get 'em off me
And I call my dollars Precious cause my pockets chubby
They was callin me ugly, now all of these bitches they wanna just fuck me
All of my niggas they hustlin' and killin the game, this shit is a shame
I don't mind niggas from Harlem, I did it, and you can do the same
I took money from out the hood he good now he dont have to gangbang
All of my niggas who figured they're bigger but left
Are left feeling the pain (No Love)
He was a rider, ridin' in that Porsche
I'm the Messiah, I'll be the young Trap Lord
Sippin' on the Henney, tryna get a penny, wigglin' a dime, nigga I take off
Pretty Flacko did well, now watch how Ferg go off, oh Lord
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
Don Cannon
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Rich Homie baby!
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
Cul-de-sac money, I got nosey neighbors
A couple packs comin', I'm at the store waitin'
Kill the fat onion, got some more paper
I keep the strap gunnin', I'm makin' dope wages
Your folks hatin', I got more paper
Your clothes basic, you see my ho tailored
All that makeup make your ho look made up
Cul-de-sac shoe strings got the hood laced up
I'm at the corner shootin' like a Pacer
"Reggie Miller I shoot a nigga face up"
And I like getting head cause I'm aimin' waist up
And if you owe me, better pay up
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
I'm gettin' all this paper, A$AP money
And I'm fuckin' all these bitches, I can't get 'em off me
And I call my dollars Precious cause my pockets chubby
They was callin me ugly, now all of these bitches they wanna just fuck me
All of my niggas they hustlin' and killin the game, this shit is a shame
I don't mind niggas from Harlem, I did it, and you can do the same
I took money from out the hood he good now he dont have to gangbang
All of my niggas who figured they're bigger but left
Are left feeling the pain (No Love)
He was a rider, ridin' in that Porsche
I'm the Messiah, I'll be the young Trap Lord
Sippin' on the Henney, tryna get a penny, wigglin' a dime, nigga I take off
Pretty Flacko did well, now watch how Ferg go off, oh Lord
Big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Jay runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', couple bats for me
I supply my neighbor, cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talkn bout Quan?)
Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men run it back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money.
Credits
Writer(s): Donald E. Cannon, Dequantes Devontay Lamar, Darold D. Brown, Rodriquez Dejuan Yancy
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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