Yo Gotti - Countin' Money lyrics

[Intro - Sample of DJ B-Do from "Grind Hard" by UGK] - 4X f** a rubber band, a n***a need a bunch of ropes [Gucci Mane talking over Intro] (Yo Gotti) Yo, it's Gucci R.I.P. Pimp C mayne (Get that street money, street money, street money) [Hook - Sample of DJ B-Do from "Grind Hard" by UGK] Count 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 day [Verse 1 - Bun B] Say mayne, no matter where I go (I go), no matter what I do (I do) If chillin with myself (myself) or ballin with my crew (my crew) If skies is lookin cloudy or Bahama water blue I got that money on my mind (my mind), so tell me what it do (it do) And if you be like me, then you already knew it (knew it) We goin for the money, then we goin right through it (through it) We take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it (screw it) Cause it ain't nothin to it, where I come from but to do it (do it) We get it in our hands and then it go right through the fingers (fingers) We spend it on a system and a fresh set of swangers (swangers) We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on our hangers (hangers) That everyday struggle and can't 'nam n***a change us (change us) Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song (song) Believe I had a poppin 'fore a label put me on (on) It's 2010 and I ain't seein nothin wrong (wrong) With n***as countin money all day f**in long (long) [Hook] - w/ ad libs [Verse 2 - Yo Gotti] Money toting, pistol carrying, young n***a thugged out Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stupid swag Rubber bands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags A chain on my neck, you know that cost stupid cash Maserati for the watch, that's that foolish cash Penitentiary chances, sixes on a muscle car Bun told me keep it real and watch it take me far Now my money don't fold (fold), this money here I ain't make it for no hoes, I ain't get this off no shows Talk money all day, count money all night Trust no one with my paper, so I count my paper twice I be lonely without my paper, so I sleep with it at night Now I wake up to my paper, so I start my day off right They call me Cocaine Gotti, Mr. Money Over b**hes Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen [Hook] - w/ ad libs [Verse 3 - Gucci Mane] I'm the sh** b**h, you smell me? Ain't no need to check ya sneakers Three bricks, plus a split with me, then b**h you got a hit (yeah) Make money on my leisure Pop bottles with top models, with my goons in Puerto Rico Yo' girlfriend I'm a freak her (yeah) Believe me I'm a turn you non-believers to believers I own the team I play for, plus I coach 'em, I'm the center The hottest rapper that you know Big Willie like Cujo (Gucci) I got one thousand, million ties, I sold your dice for uno So tune into East Atlanta, uh Please don't change the channel ma Roll the windows down back up, my Phantom, show my Audemars Hangin out my part-a-ner What you want an auto-graph? Thinkin that you angry cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras [Hook]