versus1: stepping out the motherf**kin car they in awe im looking like a star bitch when you see me make a wish holla at ya motherf**kin boy J.R. birdman my pa bitch boy bread born rich dear mr toliet im the shit got these other haters pissed 'cause my toliet paper thick i know but trip in that 40 make a chip out of potatoe head wimp then like ranch i dip and the hustle was all muscle just strength when comes to that weight i dont struggle i just lift (1, 2)i got my hand on the game yeah i make a grip 100 grand in my fist same on my wrist get key money from a quarter blaim it on my wrist i whip coke like hoes nigga im pimp lil nigga bout to rape the market if we talking bout money baby now we talking 

Chorus: money on my mind money on my mind money on my mind money on my mind money on my mind so money is all think of

versus2: (yeah) nigga get it in the slump if u know how in the heart of the summer we need a snowplow wat u know bout that baby its showtime coke transactions on the phone we call it blowjob to fast for the feds to cocky for the cops had to ditch my old bitch getting sloppy wit the pots hopping off the boat meeting poppy at the docks they tell me im gaining weight i tellin em im getting paid (yeah) money over bitches im yelling it to the grave developed at a young age go after wat pays these gabbana sunshades block the sunrays i drop a car note at the mall on the first day i gotta get it even if its in the worst way that cake like its its my birthday new orleans my birthplace u heard me where moneys more important than a person

chorus

versus3: twisting up a blunt thinking bout my next dollar im digging in the game trying to get some money out her im so vain its a problem there aint a stain on these pradas im just being modest got me a godess sure how to divide it she still down and she dont get none of the profit well round the city let the tints hide me thats a cold muthafuka who eva inside it forever symbolizing the grind and dont walk to u i make u run like horses do giddey up baby if he got then hit him up baby i know its crazy but i cant enough baby I Love It I f**king Love It ima self made millionaire f**k the public ridin' to myself 'cause i dont f**k wit nuttin pistol on my lap on my way to the money 
chorus