Bun B - Countin' Money (Screwed & Chopped) lyrics

[Intro] f** a rubber band a n***a need a buncha birds (X4) [Over intro - Gucci Mane (Yo Gotti)] Yo, it's Gucci, brrrr, R.I.P. Pimp C mane, brrrr (This that straight my, straight my) [Chorus] Money all day, count money all day Count money all day, count money all, money all Count money all day, count money all day, count money all Money all, money all, money all day [Bun B - Verse 1] Say mane, no matta where I go, no matter what I do If chillin' wit' myself, or ballin' wit' my crew The skies is lookin' cloudy or Bahama water blue I got that money on my mind, so tell me what it do And if you be like me, then you already knew it We goin' for the money then we goin' right through it Take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it 'Cause it ain't nothin' to it where come from, but to do it We get it in our hands, and then it go right through the fingas We standin' on the system in a fresh set of swangas We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on the hangas That everyday struggle and can't nair n***a change us Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song Believe I had a poppin' 'fore a label put me on It's 2010 and I ain't seein' nothin' wrong But n***as countin' money all day f**in' long [Chorus] [Yo Gotti - Verse 2] Money totin', pistol carrying young n***a thugged out Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stoopid swag Rubber bands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags Apple chain on my neck, you know that cost stoopid cash Maserati for the wash, that's that foolish cash Penitentiary chances, '6's on a muscle car Bun helped me keep it real and watch it take me far My money don't fold, this money here I ain't make it for no hoes, I ain't get this off of shows Count money all day, count money all night Trust no one wit' my paper, so I count my paper twice I been on wit' out my paper, so I sleep wit' it at night Now I wake up wit' to my paper so I start my day off right They call me Cocaine Gotti, and it's money over b**hes Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen [Chorus] [Gucci Mane - Verse 3] It's me Gucci I'm the sh** b**h you smell me Ain't no need to check ya sneakers Three bricks, plus a split wit' me, then b**h you got a hit Big money on my leisure, pop bottles wit' top models Wit' my goons in Puerto Rico, yo' girlfriend I'ma freak her Believe me I'm a giant, leave it to the lemurs(?) I only see my paper plus my cojan on the Sanyo The hottest rapper that you know, people look like Cujo (Gucci) I get a thousand million ties and sold your guys for uno So tune into East Atlanta, please don't change the channel ma Roll the windows down back up In my Phantom show my automa Hangin' out my partner, naw Don't you want this autograph? Thinkin' that you angry 'cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras [Chorus]