Corrección Letra Get Ya Money par Joell Ortiz & KXNG Crooked

Regreso

Letra

Uh, uh, uh, yeah
It's a vibe right now, turn me up a little bit, uh

You can't tell me shit, I'm in this bitch takin' Belve' sips
Feeling like the only one who truly knew Joell would be rich
I'm walking in the 40 feeling 26 as I watch heavy wrist pull-ups, push-ups and dips 20 a clip
In my tank top looking like the old fifth
Enemy killer on my hip
Guess that's why they call it a fo' fifth
Jump in my new whip
Bumping some old shit, grown shit
Fahrenheit cologne shit, oh shit
The first half deposits from them shows hit
Bank teller cougar looking at your boy ferocious
No miss, I'm a married man
Wife badder than arrival time of ambulances
In the hood with traffic jams after them cannons blam
Digital scale with shake on it going hand to hand
Now business deals we shake on, it's still a hand to hand
But different though
Careful how you livin' bro
I keep business on my mind and stay minding my business, yo

Somebody said, "Get your money young man"
I was walking in a store
Triple OG by the door
He looked up and he said, "Yo! Get your money young man"
But be careful how you make it
'Cause them people wanna take it
Leave your bank account naked
"Get your money young man"
Now the roles done changed
I'm giving these kids game
I tell 'em the same thing, "Get your money young man"
And there's six million ways to get it
Choose one

The cabinets were bare
Mama could barely prepare the recipes
I got on my grizzly then go get the honey
Wanted more than the bare necessities
The air, the seven seas, the land
I traveled every place on the face of the earth
To repair discrepancies in my generational curse
Went everywhere for extra cheese
Never scared to ever squeeze
So drop your diss song
You'll be a wrap over wax like record sleeves
When the heckler sneeze
We ain't playing with celebrities
Y'all playing, we the referees
Flexing our expertise
Used to slang and peddle death
Got the amphetamines from a Blood
That's red and meth
Niggas went from Haile Selassie to Emeril Lagasse
Whippin' work, ghetto chef
Ballin', tryna catch a check
But falling, down Heaven steps
Do better, this a new letter to whoever's next

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