Yella Beezy - Run to the Money lyrics

[Intro] Yeah Shun On Da Beat [Chorus] Big chain, sippin' fours Cuban link, they're drippin' gold Ballin' all off a ho I'm a dog, yeah, I know Got it all out the bowl One in the head, yeah, locked and loaded Choppin' raw on the stove Your b*tch gon' call for that pole Don't make me walk down your bros And lil' b*tch stalking, yeah, for sure You might think I'm crazy now Well business up, ain't like before I'm in love with my .40, I gun at a ni**a throat I'ma run to that money [Verse 1] Ayy, Cuban link with the piece and chain Your ni**a hatin' then he's a lame Don't fu*k without her, she's some game Heard he throwin' salt, then he need some game No sh*t about leeching, man Y'all keep talking, last ni**a reaching, man Used to ride like some priests, man Now I'm hopping out of Wagens, G's and things b*tch, I'm a hustler, yeah, I got the funds fu*k all that fussing, b*tch, I got the gun You pussy, be capping, be popping your gums You want all the smoke, well I pop at your lungs I'm too trigger happy, be popping for fun Yeah, for the bands, I'm still popping them drums Ran up that sack, went and got me a fund So happy I got a b*tch and got insurance I might make your b*tch cheese a little Chopper start nuttin' if I squeeze a little Hollow tips, I Swiss cheese a ni**a Why you cuff the ho if she easy, ni**a? Cool out, be easy, ni**a 'Fore I make her run to C Breezy, ni**a I never fu*ked around with sleazy ni**as I just fu*ked the ho because she pleased a ni**a [Chorus] Big chain, sippin' fours Cuban link, they're drippin' gold Ballin' all off a ho I'm a dog, yeah, I know Got it all out the bowl One in the head, yeah, locked and loaded Choppin' raw on the stove Your b*tch gon' call for that pole Don't make me walk down your bros And lil' b*tch stalking, yeah, for sure You might think I'm crazy now Well business up, ain't like before I'm in love with my .40, I gun at a ni**a throat I'ma run to that money [Verse 2] Hey, hold up, wait up a minute, cuz They playing games but I been the plug Deliver that sack, call me Jimmy Johns Rocks chopped up big as Cinnabons Call my lil' ni**as to get it done 'Cause we got them birds like Timmy on Ask around, b*tch, I been a don fu*ked that ho and I ain't strap a jimmy on, hey Strapped up with the semi drum Beat that pussy up until that kitty moan Skrrt, ah skrrt, make that hemi yawn That ni**a crashed out, yeah, get him gone Yella, you really wanna get him gone? ni**a call shots, yeah, I get sh*t done Chase that sack, money itch my palm Might fu*k your ho, lil' b*tch don't run Little b*tch, you pretty, huh? And met a boss ni**a, oh really, huh? With that lame ni**a, oh really, ma? Come to my pad, you can get it, ma Hey, 'bout cheese, no Philly, ma My city call me the Yella P Diddy, ma Go'n, tell me what's the damn dealy, ma Not from Nebraska, but I'm illy, ma, hah [Chorus] Big chain, sippin' fours Cuban link, they're drippin' gold Ballin' all off a ho I'm a dog, yeah, I know Got it all out the bowl One in the head, yeah, locked and loaded Choppin' raw on the stove Your b*tch gon' call for that pole Don't make me walk down your bros And lil' b*tch stalking, yeah, for sure You might think I'm crazy now Well business up, ain't like before I'm in love with my .40, I gun at a ni**a throat I'ma run to that money [Outro] Yeah Yeah Yeah