We just gon' fuck up the club, baby, fuck up the club, baby And you better bring your whole crew Yes any time you want to All this money got my mind gone Yeah! This that '63 AMG Ghost music This that Ace of Spade, Belair, let's toast music Nigga let's

What would you do if your son was at home Crying all alone On the bedroom floor 'Cause he's hungry and the only way to feed him is to Sleep with a man for a little bit of money? And his daddy's gone in and out of lock down I ain't got a job now He's just

I got money to blow They can't help it, And I can't blame 'em Since I got famous But bitch I got money to blow I'm gettin' it in, letting these bills fall All over your skin Oh oh oh ooh I got oh oh Oh oh ooh oh oh ooh oh oh oh ooh ooh

Being pretty ain't pretty, it takes all day long You spend all your money just to wipe it all off You spray on your perfume, you spray on your tan Get up in the morning, do it over again Being pretty ain't pretty at all I fought it all for a while But I

I've dethroned the king of contradiction Or were you just a jester all along, a simple pawn? Don't you know you can't count your tears like your money Running down the drain You don't need to pray for me 'cause I'm not the one to blame I can't wait to

Money make you handsome, even if you're ugly Money make her fuck me, she wanna fuck my money All my bitches love me, they love me for one thing Money keep her coming, so I'ma keep some money So I'ma keep some money They love me for one thing, huh So I'ma

You ain't gotta be my man at all, long as you just bring me your Make money, take money! Why you trickin on them other hoes? Why you trickin' on them other hoes? Let's be friends Let's be friends (where my niggas at, where my bitches at?) Where my people

I don't need a rich boy I don't want your money No, you don't gotta spend nothing on me All I want is sweet sweet love, sweet sweet love I don't want dollars No, you don't gotta be a high roller Hey! I don't need a rich boy All I want, sweet sweet love,

Play me a song People said he was useless Them people all were fools To ever play the blues Curtis Loew, Curtis Loew Well, I got your drinkin' money Tune up your Dobro 'Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker Well, I used to wake the mornin'

I want dem all Gimme dem all Jump up up up and move your body di di So shake that girl and dance, talk to me Gimmie the gyal, dem money all for work it Gimmie the gyal, dem money all for twerk it All of the girls in the air, dey my women Shake that girl