Stat Quo - Get That Money (feat. 50 Cent & Lloyd Banks) | Текст песни

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• Stat Quo
• Get That Money (feat. 50 Cent & Lloyd Banks)

[50 Cent]
Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah!)
Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah)

[Hook 3X: 50 Cent]
Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah!)
Let's get that money man, let's get that money man (yeah)

[50 Cent]
G-G-G-G-G, G-Unit!
50 Cent uhh, Greg Street, ATL to Dallas
You heard me? Check it out

Porsche spots, drop, gun in the stash, box
Get your bitch-ass, shot stuntin around here, here
Flow so, hot, they say I got it, locked
Hold on a second homie, let's get this clear
Look the wrists stay, rocked, the Ruger stay, cocked
I hope you smoke a lot cause I supply your weed, spots
Got a few questions and I need the answer on the spot
That bitch you with, she like you or she like what you got?
Tryin to maintain, tearin niggas out the frame
Semi-automatic flows; you know how it goes
Boss, B-O-S-S-M-A-N, gun in hand
Understand, gettin money is the plan
Greg Street is my man

[Hook]

[Stat Quo]
Uhh, gettin money, YEAH!
Stat Quo baby, Atlanta's own in this thang
Uh, uh

I stays by my 'fetti baby, big boy Chevy baby
Choose a pimp, hop on in, only if you're ready baby
Ain't no ifs or maybes, motherfuckers gotta pay me
Radio, gotta play me, stack a mil', I know you hate me
Stat Quo partner got a stable full of head dollars
All my folk cold choppers, even though the Feds watch us
Tired of duckin the blockas, shawty fresh as {?}
Snitchers sing to the coppers like all them tryin to stop a G
Playa ain't no stoppin me, I'm the nigga that you tryin to be
Live from Atlanta or in Dallas with my homie Street
Ain't no way or ain't no eat, my mom used to make lunch free
My ma speak, now that's street, that the way we do
We gettin money (yea!)

[Hook]

[Lloyd Banks]
Look, it's on now time to cut the cake, fuck the Jake, tuck the plate
Make a move, dump the eight, guaranteed to pump his breaks
Too pissy drunk the case, ain't got a month to waste
Smile with a pumpkin face, deep enough to jump the states
Stuff him in the trunk escape - you want a problem
Fuck the bass, up the stakes, everything I wear is up-to-date
Loyal cat, guarantee my son'll be a spoiled brat
Hot enough to boil crack, M-5, all you black
I'm the reason all you rap, admit it I'm daddy black
Doin this since "Caddy Shack" with Greg Street in that Cadi-llac
Blowin on a pillow pack, I call it Koffee Brown
Bitches can't get off me now, rasta-man toss me pounds
I ain't from a softy town, niggas'll break your bones, crack your faith
Call the doctor, let him put it back in place

[50 Cent]
Ha ha ha, 50 Cent yeah
What you gon' do boy?
From New York to Atlanta to Dallas boy
I'm all over the place, I'm international playa
You heard me? Ha ha ha
Case you dealt with me

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