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Countin Money
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Bun B
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1
[Intro]
2
Fuck a rubber band a nigga need a buncha birds (X4)
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[Over intro - Gucci Mane (Yo Gotti)]
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Yo, it's Gucci, brrrr, R.I.P. Pimp C mane, brrrr
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(This that straight my, straight my)
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[Chorus]
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Money all day, count money all day
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Count money all day, count money all, money all
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Count money all day, count money all day, count money all
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Money all, money all, money all day
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[Bun B - Verse 1]
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Say mane, no matta where I go, no matter what I do
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If chillin' wit' myself, or ballin' wit' my crew
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The skies is lookin' cloudy or Bahama water blue
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I got that money on my mind, so tell me what it do
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And if you be like me, then you already knew it
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We goin' for the money then we goin' right through it
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Take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it
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'Cause it ain't nothin' to it where come from, but to do it
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We get it in our hands, and then it go right through the fingas
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We standin' on the system in a fresh set of swangas
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We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on the hangas
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That everyday struggle and can't nair nigga change us
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Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song
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Believe I had a poppin' 'fore a label put me on
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It's 2010 and I ain't seein' nothin' wrong
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But niggas countin' money all day fuckin' long
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[Chorus]
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[Yo Gotti - Verse 2]
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Money totin', pistol carrying young nigga thugged out
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Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house
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Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stoopid swag
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Rubber bands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags
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Apple chain on my neck, you know that cost stoopid cash
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Maserati for the wash, that's that foolish cash
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Penitentiary chances, '6's on a muscle car
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Bun helped me keep it real and watch it take me far
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My money don't fold, this money here
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I ain't make it for no hoes, I ain't get this off of shows
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Count money all day, count money all night
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Trust no one wit' my paper, so I count my paper twice
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I been on wit' out my paper, so I sleep wit' it at night
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Now I wake up wit' to my paper so I start my day off right
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They call me Cocaine Gotti, and it's money over bitches
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Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen
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[Chorus]
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[Gucci Mane - Verse 3]
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It's me Gucci
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I'm the shit bitch you smell me
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Ain't no need to check ya sneakers
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Three bricks, plus a split wit' me, then bitch you got a hit
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Big money on my leisure, pop bottles wit' top models
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Wit' my goons in Puerto Rico, yo' girlfriend I'ma freak her
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Believe me I'm a giant, leave it to the lemurs(?)
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I only see my paper plus my cojan on the Sanyo
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The hottest rapper that you know, people look like Cujo (Gucci)
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I get a thousand million ties and sold your guys for uno
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So tune into East Atlanta, please don't change the channel ma
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Roll the windows down back up
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In my Phantom show my automa
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Hangin' out my partner, naw
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Don't you want this autograph?
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Thinkin' that you angry 'cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras
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[Chorus]
Termanology, Paul Wall - Thailand ft. Bu...
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