Working On Dying, Robb Bank$ - Money Shot lyrics

I ain't heard these headphones
Loud in so long (Oogie Mane, he killed it)
(I think I might be happy)
Yeah, uh, uh, uh huh
Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh huh yeah, yeah, uh huh
Yeah, yeah, yeah (Wokkk wokkk wokkk)

Pull up back on ’em (yeah)
Turn up, spaz on 'em (yeah)
Hold up, bags on 'em (Yuh)
Uh huh, flash on ’em (Yuh, yuh, yuh)
Racks on me, spot him, got him, headshot him
(sset, sset, sset)
Tell him go dig up his dead partner
Pouring up Tech out the glass bottle
No problem (Whooooo)

Get down, bah
New TEC now with the swiss cheese nozzle
Coming for the get back, full throttle
Hе tryna run away zigzag, still shot him
In the 250 Bent' coupe
Onе Addy, I don't know 'bout no murder
Naptime
I take the whole Perc' 15, I'm flying

And I'm all 'bout my Curren$y
Like I’m Young Roddy (Phew)
Set it up, Femto, go get ’em
Hold up, bitch, I ain't ready (Woo)
Eighteen K for the presi’ (Woo)
These fuck niggas plush, they teddies (Woo)
To the dope, say Femto sent you (Yuh)
Eeny-miny-moe with these bitches (Huh)
Kill your mama and your girl
It's just business (Tuh)

I work your bitch out with the fitness
I'm the future, past, present
I fuck up your Christmas
In 2012, chopped up the bricks like confetti
I meant it, I said it, if you ain't ’bout it
Dead it 'Cause you ain't finna like where I
Take it, don't tempt me, uh
She bow in front the dick like sensei, uh
And your mouth, know it taste like candy, uh
I dunk on your bitch like N'Kembe, uh
I'ma need you to show me what the head like
Uh i'm the head outcast, uh
And I raw dog every time, uh

Got clapped like ten times
Yeah, headshot, bitch, bedtime
Pimp my new bitch, made headlines
When in two to three years, bitch, fed time
Yeah, know I break hearts every time, yeah
Tesla, Bentley, Lambo', Benz me
She got good credit mani-Pedi, Femto petty
Fuck your bestie, she wasn't even ready
Tell everybody bet on me i
Missionary while she kiss on me
I fucked her then she couldn't sleep

They geeking off the energy
I met him at the Embassy
That 38, it's still on me if I see an enemy
Wait, wait, hold on, what the
Fuck you talking 'bout, son?
Who the fuck niggas that
You brought with you, son?
Up top, I let my Bronx bitch
Fuck in Timbs and a durag, talk that talk
Word to I ain't feeling that, son
Wet a nigga up, hope you brought your gun
Raised y'all niggas so I call you son
Block action, y'all talk too much

Pull up back on 'em (yeah)
Turn up, spaz on 'em (yeah)
Hold up, bags on 'em (Yuh)
Uh huh, flash on 'em (Yuh, yuh, yuh)
Racks on me, spot him, got him, headshot him
(sset, sset, sset)
Tell him go dig up his dead partner
Pouring up Tech out the glass bottle
No problem (Whooooo)