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ok - baby money lyrics

[intro]
(look out, veno)
(veno gon’ cook up, he mix the ingredients)

[chorus]
i feel like crime, feel like brodie off a thirty, okay
forty deuce in wockhardt, i’m james worthy, okay
last n*gga played with me, he got murdered, okay
they sent a lot ’cause they get paid in a hurry, okay
trackhawk do a hundred, eight seconds, no way
ain’t got no p*ssy in four days, we been gettin’ more pape’
i don’t f*ck with yellow gold, my kit look like rosé
he upped his pole, he ain’t blow, now he gone, okay
[verse 1]
two weeks, four states, i been thumbin’ through a bag
just to see my n*gga smile, would get a hundred n*ggas whacked
k!ll your shooter and your boss, n*gga, ain’t no gettin’ back
n*ggas see the train leavin’, now they tryna get on track
guess i was ‘posed to leave ’em, couple n*ggas loyal, but the most was greedy
i pulled three hundred out the bank to make sure i’m legal
the work came from out the way, this b*tch from costa rica
the top down in the snow to make sure they see me
when y’all was pourin’ all that green, we was pourin’ keisha
they asked me how i live so long ’cause i know the reaper
my n*gga play around with keys like he know alicia
i dropped out and made a million, now i ho the teachers

[verse 2]
n*gga, i’m just tryna run it up, a kit on every one of us
i had my first fifty at sixteen, i was young as f*ck
n*ggas dumb as f*ck, workin’ like i’m comin’ up
even on a light day, my jewelry be a hundred plus
i’m jumpin’ on and off that road like it’s double dutch
i got a play to get us rich, tell them huddle up
i fell in love with my stick, we like to cuddle
you was in love with that b*tch ’til i f*cked her
i’m a walking bank
it’s missiles flying out the whip like we drive a tank
forensics all over the stick, but they can’t find a print
put fifty in that fishbowl, you should’ve rode with tint
n*gga, that’s common sense, easy money
[chorus]
i feel like crime, feel like brodie off a thirty, okay
forty deuce in wockhardt, i’m james worthy, okay
last n*gga played with me, he got murdered, okay
they sent a lot ’cause they get paid in a hurry, okay
trackhawk do a hundred, eight seconds, no way
ain’t got no p*ssy in four days, we been gettin’ more pape’
i don’t f*ck with yellow gold, my kit look like rosé
he upped his pole, he ain’t blow, now he gone, okay

- baby money lyrics

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