|
TQ - Gotta Make That Money lyrics
Yeah uh mm give it to me Mmmmm yeah Yeah yeah, Mm no no no no Seems like every night Right before I go to sleep I say a little prayer to the Lord That he keep me (that he keep me) I used to be the kinda nigga That didn't give a Fuck about anybody The slightest little thing would make me mad Especially if it involved my money And I can't tell you bout the next man But I love pullin' up in big sedans Wit' all my niggas in a caravan Holla if you hear me Now I'd love to break ya, bring you down and take ya back again But that would take too much time And I gotta hit the streets again (Hook) And even if the sun don't shine I'll still be hustlin' Gotta make that money - make that money keep it comin If it takes all night I can't be strugglin' Somebody come help me can you tell me why Is slangin' always on my mind Must be buggin' I guess they figured I would quite and they could get me if they tapped my line Don't me nothin - I still be hustlin' Now I hate to be the one to tell ya But I don't mind Niggas can hate if they want to And I'm still gonna get mine (still gonna get mine) Yes I'll still be ridin in a SC on dubs and I a... Won't be seen at none of the club and I a... All your women would know who I was - and That you wouldn't like (and that you wouldn't like) If everybody kept they mind on gettin' they scrilla Won't be no time to fuck with mine. So won't be no killing I'll just sit back and recline and smoke this Philly And keep my fingers laced with diamonds like Big Willie But for now catch me on Compton Avenue Wit' a handful of hundreds and a strap or two Puttin' it down for niggas like they told me to You need some candy so won't you come through (Hook) (Rap by E-40) Sometimes I'm suited up Sometimes I'm bummy, lookin' like a crook Hair all nappy and wild - we call it the full nuk Mashin', mobbin' and thrashin' Woopers, horns and tweeters blastin' Throbbin', hoggin' and doggin' Godzilla ballin' When it's money callin'? War-rank Just ride your runners fool Be 'bout your bank Sittin' fat like chupling All about my money, duffle bags full of scratch Artillery fire arms and gats Reep my mill, cap my feddy, get my bread Hirries on my tail, but I'm tryin' for them, but they want me dead Cuz I made it out the game without a clue or trace Used to sell that bass Rock cavvy candy, Never had to stop, enemies on the block, they knew it (they knew it) As far as I was concerned, ? man I do it Check it out Money schemin' Chis Alberchuck, Chocolate Philly, Glocks Garcia Vegas Black and Miles on the pack again (yes) What you know about that? TQ and E-40 Fonzarelli a.k.a. Charlie Hustle, easy Biatch |
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 Lovers Live by Sade |
 The Dangermen Sessions, Vol. 1 by Madness |
 Reality Check by Juvenile |
 Zizanie by Zazie |
 Zeitgeist by The Smashing Pumpkins |
