C-Mob - Where the Money At lyrics

Where the money at?
Shit I can smell paint puff all on my nose
Change directions when I smell haters
Go to hell hater we just want the pasta
Please, extra cheese
When you bring me my lasagna
Stack it up, keep stacking stack it neatly
Lose a few fingers if you
Ever try to cheat me
I'm on the money mission
Like it's money missing (missing)
Look honey money's funny
I'on need your bitching i got a plot, plot
Plan, think careful
Leave em in the field stuck
Still like a scarеcrow (like a scared doe)
Nah bro rubbеr band bandit
You don't need to fold it
We can rubber band band it underhand hand it
Right pocket stowaway
I'on't conceal and carry but you
Gotta have a throwaway
So where the money at?
I don't wanna hurt you man
Yes, you can leave if you
Can find the extra green

All I wanna know is tell me where the money
You can all go just tell me where the money

This is a stick-up don't make it a homicide
The kids, the dog
You and your baby momma die

I'mma click-clack and push his
Whole shit back
For that mothafucking currency i squeeze
Turn them white T's burgundy
Cheese please, Monterey Jack and Mozzarella
Lots of Cheddar, Velveeta nigga buy whatever
I let that money motivate me (yeah)
I'm shitting on boys that's why
These niggas hate me (hate me)
Yep but, I'mma keep mashing on em
Military issue pistols cock-blasting on em
(blasting on em)
Now where my motherfucking money at? (yeah)
Before I put a shit bag where yo tummy at
(tummy at)
Cause, I come for that merch nigga
Nobody move, nobody get hurt

All I wanna know is tell me where the money
You can all go just tell me where the money

How does it feel to have a pistol
To your mouth or your head?
Where's the cash?
Is it hidden in the couch or the bed?
I'mma tear through every inch of
This house for the bread
If I don't find it I'mma turn this
To the house of the dead so you
Should probably give up the info and "show
Me the money" like Jerry Maguire
You better be telling the truth
You know it ain't nothing to bury a liar
Cause, I'm finna do you just like I would do
You if you were to carry a wire
I'm thinking it's time for torture
3rd go get me a pair of your pliers
I'm bout to rip all his
Fingernails out his fingertips
And I bet this birdie is bout
To turn to a singer quick
And if this birdie ain't singing
And I ain't touching grands
Then I'mma rip every finger right
Off his fucking hands
I gotta get paid, this isn't personal
This is business kid and oh by the way
I do not let a witness live
So get to talking
You should hand over the money fast
And if you're lucky I won't leave
Here with a bloody mask

All I wanna know is tell me where the money
You can all go just tell me where the money