Print

True story First time I started seeing some Money Yeah It's trap or die My bank account got so crazy Oh this shit gonna be crazy in a minute My accountant said Dram you're gon' have to pay taxes on these millions Louis V duffel, fuck a brief case Thousand hundreds in my pockets Yeah, the blue face Fifty thousand grams in a suitcase All black Prada gloves, you know them boots laced Pearl white Rarri, call it tooth paste Tom Ford on me, you know the suit place Assets and the cash flow We rerockin' when the cash low Drop a whole, bring a half back Whole kitchen fume Where your mask at Celine sweats and some Air Ones ARs with the big drums One time for the rich shooters Got more chains than the jewelers My account lit Letras de cancionesFNs in the Rolls Rich gangsta shit One time for the rich shooters Got more chains than the jewelers My account lit FNs in the Rolls Rich gangsta shit Break it down, buss it up Digit scale, zip lock it Vacuum seal it, double up Ain't talkin 'bout prime when I tell 'em send a truck Favorite prayer from a driver See ya there, best of luck Cubans shinin' on that black Amiri Tee, never tucked Black Phantom with the stars for the star, that's what's up I'm in a Sergio Tacchini 'cause it match the Lamborghini Make 'em birds disappear like the great Houdini Lost a mill in Mississippi You could ask Hit up Kuma Ted walk for the stunnas and the beanie Black tech, cut the check What's the goal? Buy a jet Track hawk, or the Vette Big chain, break your neck One time for the rich shooters Got more chains than the jewelers My account lit FNs in the Rolls Rich gangsta shit One time for the rich shooters Got more chains than the jewelers My account lit FNs in the Rolls Rich gangsta shit You know these eight figure checks I still feel like a intern Haha From Letras Mania