Hurricane Chris, Kevin Gates - To The Money lyrics

Drumma Boy 51: 50
BWA hurricane
Gates

Fully automatic in the trunk
Took it outta trunk put it on the backseat
Starin' at a flat-line
One o' these niggas gonna catch me a case
But it's gon' get beat
Ridin' through the city with the top down
Like what now? Ye ain't really want no beef
That 223 got a whole lotta shots
Runnin' off at the mouth
And yo body gon' leak
Black ski mask, and nobody gon' see my face
Lo key, bitch, you dealin' with a G
Fuck hangin' out a window
When I walk up on a nigga close range
Bang bang and it's what it's gonna be
Hit you with a chain gang
Just anotha nigga dead
Laid down face first in the
Middle of the street
Now ye ain't really bout that
Find out where yo house at
Come through, let off with that heat, gone!

Fall out in a party
Said ain't no need for talkin'
Bad model walkin', ass like a horsie
All my cars are fuckin', promethazine pourin'
Shawty out the body on a
Molly while I'm snoring
All the gold bottles get water
All the hoe ballers be on us
Might crack a smile, but it ain't shit funny
If ye ain't talk about us
You ain't talk about nothin'
Runnin', runnin' to the money
Runnin', runnin' to the money
Runnin', runnin' to the money Runnin'
Runnin' to the money

Running from a bullet
But it got yo name on it
Want a nigga brain? I could drop change on it
I'm built on loyalty and won't change on it
Oughta be a lawyer fee, got 'em on retain
Thanks to the D game
I was in the street game
Waitin' for the rap game
Crack game crept out
Fuckin' in the trap house, wrecked out
Bad bitch on the floor
Body so fuckin' that she tapped out
Bought a brick, broke it down so backs out
Half of the rock in the shoe, stackhouse
Now they tellin' me the game I should backout
Same nigga let me in the
Gout with my back out
I spit 'em down, rockin' a frown
Bullet in my leg got me hoppin' around
In a wheelchair as a wobble around
Held up at the block, start lockin' it down
Now I run the town!

Fall out in a party
Said ain't no need for talkin'
Bad model walkin', ass like a horsie
All my cars are fuckin', promethazine pourin'
Shawty out the body on a
Molly while I'm snoring
All the gold bottles get water
All the hoe ballers be on us
Might crack a smile, but it ain't shit funny
If ye ain't talk about us
You ain't talk about nothin'
Runnin', runnin' to the money
Runnin', runnin' to the money
Runnin', runnin' to the money Runnin'
Runnin' to the money