: I stayed at homw today And I'm not going back to work Money Stinks...
Tricky: Trample on my Trample on my soul Kill me with a quickness Trample on my soul Kill me with a quickness Trample on my soul Money greedy Money
sweet, (uh) Goin' down (goin' down) Hol' up (hol' up)....uh Check it.. [Pimp C] Boys kickin' back, layin' in the shade Ain't nobody trippin' 'cause the money
when you two did 'Too Hard To Swallow' We Thought it was a fluke When you boys came 'Super Tight' we played it cool hand luke 'Ridin Dirty' went gold
scattered, full a hatin': nigga chatterin' Hoes, if you ask me, "What them niggas be about?" Hate me 'cause my flow official And I'm from that Dirty South
: [Verse One: Bun B] Man, I been feelin' caged in They try to stop us shackled us and dropped us Tacklers, sackers, no propers, just smack us Floppers
hard I was fucking up the game Nigga, you're a lame you ain't holding like Sweet James They [??] on my phone, call me Sir Jones Make a lot a money, so
: (feat. Big Gipp (Goodie Mob)) [Verse One: Pimp C] Uh, hold up smoke something bitch, uh, uh Everybody want to know why the airplane was late I was
honey Yeah, it's bright outside but not nessicarily sunny And no matter how you make it, it's all dirty money baby [Verse Two: Pimp C] Every drug I sold was for the dirty money
: [Pimp C talking] Hold up hold up hold up Starring at the bar mutherfuckers Eye pussy-know what I'm talking bout [Verse 1: Pimp C] I'm Pimp C bitch
chance Put the paper in the panties when you get that dance This C.O.D. nigga, so you can keep your nuh plastic cards No checks, no money orders, Visas
see You managin' this money...it's too much. All you do is look good... And then you fuck. Git my money, git yo' money It's all the same. The shit ain
: [Pimp C:] Uh...whuuuut (hehe) Smoke somethin', bitch...smoke somethin'... [Pimp C:] I'm up early 'cause my nigga Don't sell dope after night time.
a pro, next to my fo' Instead of stackin' cheese He steady screamin' to that ho.. Let me see it [Pimp C] Fuck-ass nigga.. Ol' fuck-ass nigga, get yo' mind on yo' money
gone? And people got the nerve to blame you for it And you know you woulda took the bullet if you saw it But you felt it and still feel it And money
Biggie: Uh, uh, uh Ain' no shook hands in brook-lyn auto futigued then fitigue the enemy look man you wanna see me locked up, shot up moms crotched up
[Dirty Money] So hard to breathe this air that we call love, aint nothing worse than the hurt we receive from love, when you get hurt by the one you living
Ain't no shook hands in Brooklyn Army fatigued then fatigue the enemies Look man, you wanna see me locked up, shot up Moms crouched up over the casket