Track8

Track 8 (Explicit) - T.I./T-Pain/Jeezy/2 Chainz

Lyrics by：Clifford Harris/Jay Jenkins/Tauheed Epps/Faheem Najm

Composed by：Clifford Harris/Jay Jenkins/Tauheed Epps/Faheem Najm

Produced by：DJ Montay/Big Oomp/Jared McGriff

Hey me and my niggas gettin' money

We gettin' money

You fuckin' with the dope boys

Dope boys yeah

Drop it in the trunk

In the trunk

Swervin' lane to lane in them dope toys

Dope toys yeah

Uh parking lot stuntin'

Every time they see us they say oh boy oh boy

Oh boy oh boy

Oh we gettin' money

Gettin' money

You gettin' money?

Gettin' money

You fuckin' 'round with them dope boys

Okay any given day and you tryin' you can find me

The starter coat Dickies troop suits in the nineties

Gold chains Dana Dane's on the Chevy sittin' behind me

Cazals Cartiers loads of yay' I know the prices

And what's even more enticing I got it for lower prices

Christmas time shawty I can beat the store prices

Man all we need is some boiling water and some baking soda

And a couple J's we get to rollin' then we taking over

We getting paid on the daily the hustle is all we know

Like if they come and raid today then fuck it we gotta go

Took a trip and met the plug he dropped it Geronimo

I sold it fast told his ass grande mas vámonos

Do it for Frank Matthew Rich Porter and Scooter

Would've had a bright future if they could've quit sooner

Now when we count a hundred racks we dedicate the shit to 'em

If they was alive now we'd take the shit to 'em I'm sayin'

Me and my niggas gettin' money

We gettin' money

You fuckin' with the dope boys

Dope boys yeah

Drop it in the trunk

In the trunk

Swervin' lane to lane in them dope toys

Dope toys yeah

Uh parking lot stuntin'

Every time they see us they say oh boy oh boy

Oh boy oh boy

Oh we gettin' money

Gettin' money

You gettin' money?

Gettin' money

You fuckin' 'round with them dope boys

It's the man the myth the motherfuckin' legend

Drop the three-point five brought back a motherfuckin' seven

I'm talking so much white kitchen looking like it's heaven

Glass bags and the scale gas stove on hell

And when it lock up it turn to rubber band colors

We gettin' money over here we some rubber band lovers

Pyrex make a circle like a CD nigga

Whole thing solitary they in PC nigga