Back to Top

Money Video (MV)




Performed By: DonSantana
Length: 2:47
Written by: JAMES ALAN JOHNSTON




DonSantana - Money Lyrics




He know im hot
He just won't leave me alone
He done popped up at my spot
Yeah

He know im a shooter
He keep me wit' em at all his drops
Mm
These hoes be lurkin' and hurtin

They beggin' and pleadin' to pop
Mm
And that's why they mad
Cause they know that I already done that

He f*ckin' with me
His momma know she ain't gettin' her son back
They watchin' my funds
They know when I pop out

I'm blowin' them big racks
Uh
I don't want your nigga
But he want my number

Wanna stay in contact
Maybe go beyond that
Relax, pipe down
I'm feelin' good

Off the drink and the gas
Right now
Uh
You wanna beat my ass

Pop out
I'm in your hood, bitch
I wish she would
She would never, uh

I wish she would
Cause she be poppin' all that hot shit
On the social
It don't faze me

You was just my bestie
All on my dick
Wanted to have my baby
And these hoes be gettin' so mad

When they realize that they can't faze me
They keep it rowdy
I keep it gangsta
That's why they hate me, I guess

Uh
That's why they hate me, I guess
Okay
Thats why they hate me

Yeah
Yeah
Okay
Okay

Uh
Uh
Uh
Pulled up to the function

Spent 200 on the valet
And my niggas is on they toes
The way we move, it's like a ballet
Gifted the way he eat it

He lick the plate like it was gourmet
Warning shots on yo block
I keep it wet like it was foreplay
If you got it, nigga

Then throw them racks up
Uh
She peep my vibe
Yeah, I'm aggressive

I make them back up
I'll run you out your city
And feel no pity
I'll make you pack up

Bitch can't make me mad
Play with my bag
I tie my tracks up
Uh

I had to hit her with a two-piece
Watch her knees drop
Uh
She think she poppin

Til I pop out
I make her fees drop
Yeah
I'm the shit but I smell so rich

I make them fleas drop
My racks so rich
I got that shit that all the fiends cop
They comin' back for it

Yeah, I got that box
That keep them locked
Come spend a bag for it
Yeah, I'm sorry

I ain't in yo bracket
I had to tax for it
And she claim a hoe got her pH
All outta whack for it

You ain't get stacks for it
How you ain't even get no packs for it
Huh
Okay

Haha
Haha
Haha
Don
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.


We currently do not have these lyrics. If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.




He know im hot
He just won't leave me alone
He done popped up at my spot
Yeah

He know im a shooter
He keep me wit' em at all his drops
Mm
These hoes be lurkin' and hurtin

They beggin' and pleadin' to pop
Mm
And that's why they mad
Cause they know that I already done that

He f*ckin' with me
His momma know she ain't gettin' her son back
They watchin' my funds
They know when I pop out

I'm blowin' them big racks
Uh
I don't want your nigga
But he want my number

Wanna stay in contact
Maybe go beyond that
Relax, pipe down
I'm feelin' good

Off the drink and the gas
Right now
Uh
You wanna beat my ass

Pop out
I'm in your hood, bitch
I wish she would
She would never, uh

I wish she would
Cause she be poppin' all that hot shit
On the social
It don't faze me

You was just my bestie
All on my dick
Wanted to have my baby
And these hoes be gettin' so mad

When they realize that they can't faze me
They keep it rowdy
I keep it gangsta
That's why they hate me, I guess

Uh
That's why they hate me, I guess
Okay
Thats why they hate me

Yeah
Yeah
Okay
Okay

Uh
Uh
Uh
Pulled up to the function

Spent 200 on the valet
And my niggas is on they toes
The way we move, it's like a ballet
Gifted the way he eat it

He lick the plate like it was gourmet
Warning shots on yo block
I keep it wet like it was foreplay
If you got it, nigga

Then throw them racks up
Uh
She peep my vibe
Yeah, I'm aggressive

I make them back up
I'll run you out your city
And feel no pity
I'll make you pack up

Bitch can't make me mad
Play with my bag
I tie my tracks up
Uh

I had to hit her with a two-piece
Watch her knees drop
Uh
She think she poppin

Til I pop out
I make her fees drop
Yeah
I'm the shit but I smell so rich

I make them fleas drop
My racks so rich
I got that shit that all the fiends cop
They comin' back for it

Yeah, I got that box
That keep them locked
Come spend a bag for it
Yeah, I'm sorry

I ain't in yo bracket
I had to tax for it
And she claim a hoe got her pH
All outta whack for it

You ain't get stacks for it
How you ain't even get no packs for it
Huh
Okay

Haha
Haha
Haha
Don
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: JAMES ALAN JOHNSTON
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, O/B/O DistroKid, Songtrust Ave

Back to: DonSantana

Tags:
No tags yet