Moneyman - HoodRich Pablo Juan, G Herbo, Tee Grizzley

Rich Hood nigga, Pablo Juan nigga

You know what the fuck goin' on, nigga

True story, no lie, three times

Let’s go

Don’t call my phone unless you talkin' money

My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand

Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan

That ain’t my bitch, I leave her to the other man

Whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not butter man

Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan

We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man

Fuck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Stick on my hip, blue benjamin bankroll like a crip

Iced out, I need a quilt

Stuck in the slave days with the chains and the whip

Am I racist because I like all white bricks?

It’s a chicken race, we see the police and we buyin' it

New racks, we do not do leases

I got M16's, ain’t talkin' 'bout bitches

My dope bell ringin', my trap beat

Forty gram blunt like the seasons, at the Four Seasons

Fucked every bitch since I fuck 'em and leave 'em

Chopper’s a bitch, I might just start bleedin'

On Allah, I got more haters than Jesus

Complete the puzzle, you ain’t got all the pieces

So much money, take care of auntie and nieces

I fuck like the Energizer, just like Easter

I be on the best exotic good reefer

Don’t call my phone unless you talkin' money

My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand

Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan

That ain’t my bitch, I leave her to the other man

Whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not butter man

Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan

We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man

Fuck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Big G Herbo, I remember havin' coke and dope

Mentally was in the kitchen mixin' coke and dope

I was readin', writin' rhymes in my rap book

Fuck around, now I get a book of coke a show

I got fans out of Indiana, Kokomo

BAPE T’s comin' straight from out of Tokyo

Cost a few G’s soon as I walked in the door

Cost me two G’s, that’s for my lil fit, you know

What it’s worth I spent a bag on my G-Fazos

But I still know how to swag in them penny loafs

Gucci, Louis, that’s my swag on the really though

Saint Laurents don’t gotta sag 'cause they fitted, bro

Don’t call my phone unless you talkin' money

My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand

Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan

That ain’t my bitch, I leave her to the other man

Whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not butter man

Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan

We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man

Fuck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man

Bitch I’ll blow out your brains

Y’all niggas ain’t gang gang

Spent a whole thing on my chain

Used to cookin', bag up 'caine

I’m on the west, free GeeWee, that’s my blooda, bitch

I’m on that east, posted in Brooklyn, free them Shmurdas, bitch

I’m in Houston with J Prince, shout out Mob

You gon' hear 'bout a nigga gettin' killed if I ever get robbed

Bitch, I ain’t tryna talk if you ain’t tryna slob

Platinum sellin' artist, but I’ll put you on the news

Nigga, that’s on God

Don’t call my phone unless you talkin' money

My designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand

Send that bitch MIA, she come back with a tan

That ain’t my bitch, I leave her to the other man

Whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not butter man

Put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan

We shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man

Fuck these bitches and stitches and fame, I want money man