letra de my soul - money man
[intro]
(taylor michael turn it up)
(trauma tone)
[chorus]
i walk in the booth and i pour out my soul
sold all these p’s to buy diamonds and gold
if we talkin’ g, then i’m fittin’ the mold
b-tch i’m the sh-t just like i’m a commode
you comin’ home with me, baby, come on
what’s all that hate for, lil’ n-gg-? come on
i swear your silhouette turnin’ me on
turn them bags on my artists, they get that sh-t gone
these n-gg-s ain’t ballin’, they injury-pr-ne
had to cut this b-tch off, she keep callin’ my phone
i make her scream, i make her moan
i put the 2.5 inside of a cone
got her wet like a yacht on the beach in miami
you still see her -ss through them pants and they baggy
got that pack on the way, i just checked on the trackin’
my b-tch on the way, she gon’ give me some action
[verse]
yeah, i’m on rodeo, i just seen lebron
i swear i feel better with you in my arms
i know for sure that the world in my palms
i’m burnin’ on pressure, that sh-t make me calm
she love watchin’ me spit on the mic and make songs
i love watchin’ her frolic around in a thong
yes, it’s true, money man is a king like i’m kong
i’m stayin’ sharp like the sword and the stone
fly as h-ll, you know i’m fly like a drone
all my hoes s-xy, they bad to the bone
i lift n-gg-s up, i don’t put n-gg-s on
800 bucks for an ounce of cologne
i swear she conceited and no, i can’t blame her
she all ’bout her business and no one can change her
i trap in the projects, that sh-t be so dangerous
these n-gg-s be crossin’, that sh-t got me angry
i turned down the show, the promoter was janky
i just met a hacker and he had me thinkin’
a n-gg- want smoke then i’m leavin’ him stankin’
i don’t shoot the breeze but i will shoot this rifle
i be flippin’ them whips, i just got me a t-tle
she come to the spot and give head like a visor
i don’t have a budget, i don’t need advisors
[bridge]
oh, oh, oh
oh, oh, oh
[chorus]
i walk in the booth and i pour out my soul
sold all these p’s to buy diamonds and gold
if we talkin’ g, then i’m fittin’ the mold
b-tch i’m the sh-t just like i’m a commode
you comin’ home with me, baby, come on
what’s all that hate for, lil’ n-gg-? come on
i swear your silhouette turnin’ me on
turn them bags on my artists, they get that sh-t gone
these n-gg-s ain’t ballin’, they injury-pr-ne
had to cut this b-tch off, she keep callin’ my phone
i make her scream, i make her moan
i put the 2.5 inside of a cone
got her wet like a yacht on the beach in miami
you still see her -ss through them pants and they baggy
got that pack on the way, i just checked on the trackin’
my b-tch on the way, she gon’ give me some action
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