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money calls - jay critch lyrics

[verse 1: ben frierson]
i am the one, so i keep a gun
these n-ggas ain’t catchin’ me slippin, i’m thankfully grippin’
’32 on me, i call it blake griffin
f-ck with the gang and you might end up missin’
drop the phantom got the top missin’
’30 on me got the ice drippin’
n-ggas hatin’ but my songs they listen
v.i.p with the bottles, strippers, got the b-tches kissin’
back-to-back, in and out the spots, like a sale on christmas
goin’ like a teacher when i talk you listen
not doing features so don’t ask the question
3k for a walkthrough, after 30 minutes, hit them feet steppin
never misdirectin’ with the smith & wesson’
n-gga i’m convinced that imma’ die a legend
pillow-talking that’s some suckah sh-t
k!llas know that you should come and get
all my n-ggas need a bunch of sh-t
they just love to see the hunnids flip
diamonds dancin’ while i f-ck your b-tch
let em hangin’, i’ll tuck em in’ (gang!)

[verse 2: jay critch]
imma’ pull up in two seater, he got the pounds and we runnin’ it
i can not come for no eater, hittin’ that b-tch then i’m dumpin’ it
these n-ggas lyin’ they gunnin’ sh-t, duffle bag with the hunnids in
f-ck the police, f-ck the government, private jet smoke a blunt in it
and my n-ggas gon’ get to the payments, money foreign i gotta exchange it
she said that i’m so entertainin’, and i’m still with the gang i ain’t changing
i get off in the ghost like waldo, still walk with the pack in my cargo
gotta keep me a semi, or sawed-off
where that money be going, i follow
where that money be coolin’, i pick-up
hood-fave, my pockets do sit-ups
i was down by the young n-gga get-up
she suckin’ me til she get hiccups
she mixin’ this in with the liquor
now she forget she got a n-gga
i been flexin’, i get some of that n-gga
i’m smokin’ a bag we don’t switch up
my b-tch, she bad and boujee, but she freaky when she get off the henny
i drop a bag in louie, but today i’m steppin out in the fendi
i make an action movie, everytime i pull up, 30’s be with me
if i don’t have the toolie, brodie got it, all my shooters got plenty

[hook? : jay critch]
imma’ pull up in two seater, he got the pounds and we runnin’ it
i can not come for no eater, hittin’ that b-tch then i’m dumpin’ it
these n-ggas lyin’ they gunnin’ sh-t, duffle bag with the hunnids in
f-ck the police, f-ck the government, private jet smoke a blunt in it
and my n-ggas gon’ get to the payments, money foreign i gotta exchange it
she said that i’m so entertainin’, and i’m still with the gang i ain’t changing
i get off in the ghost like waldo, still walk with the pack in my cargo
gotta keep me a semi, or sawed-off
where that money be going, i follow

[verse 3: ben frierson]
when that money be goin’, i follow
i get that sh-t with my eyes closed
i need the cheese like a nacho
i had to ice out my vatos
im payin face like pic-sso
a n-gga move more ‘n he die slow
i can’t trust him he talkin to 5-0
roll in the woods, enchilado
mention that louie, that gucci, that fendi with that new milano
we need the money like pr-nto
callin’ that sh-t that i ride for
pop a wheelie when we see the 5-0
got the shooters posted on the block though
n-ggas went in on this rap sh-t, but the game got it on lock though like (gang!)

- jay critch lyrics

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