Kevin Crouse - Money Over Bullsh** lyrics

[Verse 1] My n***as got scarred grills, skully hats and gats be fully's Brrrat, cars peel, the East Coast cartel Rats get their tails snapped and trapped The snitches in the streets and the snitches who rap Pure euphoria, a dose of d**h to all of ya Coroner choruses sung from The Bridge to Astoria Dreams of fallin' in the elevator, pa**in' floors Suddenly stop, the doors open up to a brick wall I can smell the haters, wishful thinkers, bad luck prayers Picture your tarot cards and bodyguards getting sprayed up Sabotagin' my makeup, my watches get laced up Even if they indicted Jacob Forensics, paramedics, carry cowards off Defibrillators shock to your chest, try to cough They die and hit Hell from an iron I'm fly in YsL, I'm paid from this sh** Got b**hes high as hell, and they f**ing like AIDS don't exist They get sent to your hotel, a maid and sh** Put a barrel in a capo mouth, 'til his scalp come out You a kid, you don't live what you rap about King poetic, too many haters to count Too much paper to count, QB, b**h! [Hook] Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn Money Over Bullsh**, pistols over brawn Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength (My own strength n***a, that's what I'm scared of, ha-ha) Join me in war, many will live, many will mourn Money Over Bullsh**, pistols over brawn Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength Afraid not of none of you cowards but of my own strength [Verse 2] Got seven candles lit, black wallpaper, black carpet Thinking about which n***a to target You k** a n***a today, he lives forever So I plotted out smarter, there'll be no martyrs Black TEC on the table, Mag .44 Black negligee on my b**h, she's at the door Black fish eggs, n***a, that's the caviar You n***as fish-made, y'all n***as is fifth grade n***as, it's fifty ways to disect the General If I give ya the top five, you will not survive Rule 1: co*ks**er, keep my name from your tongue Rule 2: thought you knew don't f** with God's Son Rule 3: see, matter fact, I just wait If y'all reach top five, then I'ma eat y'all alive Each one of you guys that claim Hip-Hop is still alive Like y'all ain't in agreement with Nas That sh** is dead motherf**er, it's dead, b**h… [Hook] [Verse 3] From crack pushers to Lac' pushers and ambushers And morticians to fortresses, case-dismisses Laced in riches, cake ridiculous From nickel and dimin' to trickin' them diamonds Vegas, places in Switzerland From non-blastin' to auto, I don't have to blast mine They blast mine, black 9, you flatline, my cash climb Buy rare art, antique pieces, Mona Lisa's, own no leases Five-star restaurant eaters; don't forget who your peeps is 'Sposed to dine with you, sip that good wine with you Only if they grind with you or slang for ya Seen n***as live, laugh, party and die in that very same corner Pretty girls glance at us, status unconceivable Private planes landed out in Teterboro, weed I twirl Once even gave me a phobia, that I be in a spot trapped like Madame Zenobia's with this kid eyein' my Rolly, y'all [Hook] [Outro] There it is, QB, b**h! Yeah… QB, b**h! Yeah, yeah… QB, b**h!