Five Saints - Paper lyrics

[Intro: E-92] Yo, this is E92 on the f**ing track Repping the Five Saints clique We making mad f**ing paper [Hook: The Etherealist] I get so much paper; my haters, see you later [x8] [Verse 1: The Etherealist] (Yeah, yo it's your boy The Etherealist) (Mother-f**ing Oz Mosis, the Madk**a up in here) (Yo, we making mad stacks like we Jordan f**ing Belfort, what you know about that sh**?) In the club, feeling nice and I got so much ice b**hes diving for me like a floatation device Gold ring on my right and titties on my left Last p**y tried test this, lost his mother-f**ing head b**h, I get so much paper; my haters, see you later p**n-star on my penis while I'm huffing on that vapour Snorting all the yayo, this my f**ing year Twenty-three b**hes in my whip; mother-f**ers ain't got nothing on me so they better clear Yeah, watch your girlfriend drop it low in the back of my mother-f**ing car Got a b**h on my lap and a b**h on my dick; triple digits ain't gonna get far Single digits neither: ride with Ether, ten's what you are 'Less you got triple X-Y titties, b**h, I am a rock-star b**h, get in my damn car; we can ride through the city Then I'll put your a** to sleep after s**ing on your titty (No, not cause I'm... just cause she's tired) (Because I'm rich, doesn't mean I'm gonna rape everything) [Hook] [Verse 2: E-92] (We rocking ninety-inch rims on our f**ing Caddies) (Mother-f**er, I got thirty hoes in my f**ing Limo) (Mother-f**er, each of my house rocking a f**ing twenty carat grill) I got so much paper, them girls don't have to pay Doing pretty well, tripping MDMA Gather in the club, all those honeys drift on by But I don't give a f** cause I'm still looking fly sh**-f**er, I don't know where my head's spinning now All I see is n***as; they be surfing in the crowd [Mid-verse skit] My haters, see you later: I'm f**ing to LA But shut your f**ing mouth, honey, you don't get a say Stepping in the club, I'm looking f**ing swag But b**h comes up to me and she's dancing like a slag Homies in the crowd also liking what they see But let's be god-damn real; I like it more than titty Quicket wants my paper, but if he even gets close I'mma cut him down like a mother-f**ing roast Don't get up in my sh**, son; this is f**ing mad Over to my boy Etherealist; he's up and f**ing rad [Hook] [Verse 3: DJ Quicket Bat] [Freestyle] (Paper aeroplanes. Fly like cash and gold) (Oh yeah, paper travelling places gets you there) Financially secure, you never touch this who*e That I got, that I paid so much money for Oh yeah, all my greens, look at my greens All they [incomprehensible] Not much like weed, but maybe if you want it to be Oh sh**, look at that: I just got weed from right out of my hand Because I got so much money in my pocket Throwing it at... f**ing prostitutes They all, they love it. Oh, it's so much money They can't even fit it down their bras Cause it's just all over the place, yeah Money, money, money. Oh, he's got Oh, is it Benjamin Franklin? I don't even know cause I don't even care Cause it's just so much money right coming out of my hair right now It's like spaghetti; it's just all over everywhere Just fell out my pockets and like, oh, it's on my feet now Oh, [incomprehensible] got money on the floor Oh, he's loving it Oh, f**ing Hell (Money, money, money. It's so funny) [Outro: The Etherealist] And there you have it. There it is Five Saints and E-92, mother-f**er We ain't even on this rap sh**; we on this 'making paper' sh** b**h, I got more in my f**ing pocket than you got in your year's salary b**h, I wipe my f**ing a** with your year's salary I got a gold chain for every mother-f**er in my phone book I got so much paper cause I don't even pay taxes Leave out that last bit