Текст Money Man – Blow You Away
Текст:
Mario
Oh Lord, Jetson made another one
I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin’ it fast
I’m on the way to go get me a bag
She got my extras, I’m angry, mad
They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs
Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass
We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz
That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab
Three different flavors, come purchase some bud
Download my tape, I might show you some love
Too many plays, I can’t go to the club
Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album
I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume
When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume
Cash out with me, you can get a good value
Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you
She not a horse but she look like a stallion
Questioning shit, you just kept the medallion
Sewed up the hood, niggas heavily banging
Come with that rocket ship, niggas is dying
Bit on my face so I look like a lion
She backin’ up on my dick and she grinding
Give me two million or I’m never signing
All the designer, I should be a stylist
That ho you cuff, she got too much mileage
I’m on the plane with the pack in the private
I’m burning on loud, nigga, far from quiet
Everybody got sticks, nigga, why would you try it?
I don’t wanna conversate, I want vagina
I build me a bitch like we a science
I grow my own food, I’m self-reliant
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Push up on me, I’ma blow you away
Treat a ho like a pistol and throw her away
The pack came late, it had to delay
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
She sexy as hell, she bad as fuck
She know my ex-bitch mad as fuck
I bust down a bale and bag it up
Beep, beep, beep, beep
Just like a truck, she back it up
These niggas used to laugh at us
Now they wanna make songs and rap with us
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
I grab me a pound and bag it up
Heard your lil’ song, it’s wack as fuck
I get them racks and stack ’em up
I got racks, I keep racks, I got racks, racks, racks
I keep young niggas with me and they keep straps, that’s no cap
I’m with Money Man, I got rubber bands and they bustin’ out my pants
Flight to Miami, when I land I got gunners, they got sticks in hand
Hot just like a sauna, man
Never leave my brother, shit get ugly, I can’t take the stand
I ain’t talkin’ on the phone, you want a P, you know the fee
Wrist cold like the sea, Eskimo, 1017
My son got Gucci carseat, my bitch in love with Birkin B
I’m the boss, they work for me
They say talk is cheap, but if I’m talkin’, ain’t talkin’ cheap
My whole hood bettin’ on me
I got racks on me, I keep racks on me
Nigga wanna know the rest, then bitch, get in your bag
I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin’ it fast
I’m on the way to go get me a bag
Bitch, I’m the passenger, you know she bad
She got my extras, I’m angry, mad
They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs
Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass
We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz
That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab
Three different flavors, come purchase some bud
Download my tape, I might show you some love
Too many plays, I can’t go to the club
Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album
I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume
When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume
Cash out with me, you can get a good value
Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you
Альбом
Money Man – Paranoia
