Junior M.A.F.I.A. and The Notorious B.I.G. - Get Money

Fuck bitches, get money (uh, what?)
Fuck niggas, get money (uh)
Fuck bitches, get money (woo)
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money (uh, check it out, uh)

You wanna sip Mo' on my living room flo'
Play Nintendo with Cease and Nino
Pick up my phone say, "Poppa not home"
Sex all night, mad head in the morn'
Spin my V, smoke all my weed
Tattoo on titty sayin' B.I.G., now check it
You wanna be my main squeeze, baby
Don't cha, you wanna gimme what I need, baby
Won't cha, picture life as my wife, just think
Full length mink, fat X and O links
Bracelets to match, conversation was all that
Showed you the safe combinations and all that
Guess you could say you's the one I trusted
Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard?
Shit got hot, you sent feds to my spot
Took me to court, tried to take all I got
'Nother intricate plot, the bitch said I raped her
Damn, why she wanna stick me for my paper?
My Moschino ho, my Versace hottie
Come to find out, you was fuckin' everybody
You knew about me, the fake ID
Cases in Virginia, body in D.C.
Woe, oh is me, that's what I get for trickin'
Pay my own bail, commence to ass kickin'
Lick in the door, wavin' the .44
All you heard was, "Poppa, don't hit me no more"
Disrespect my clique, my shit's imperial
Fuck around and made her milk box material
You feel me? Suckin' dick, runnin' your lips
'Cause of you, I'm on some real "fuck a bitch" shit, uh

Fuck bitches, get money (what?)
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money (uh)
Fuck bitches, get money (woo, look at me)
Fuck niggas, get money (woo, I told you niggas)

Niggas, better grab a seat
Grab on your dick as this bitch gets deep
Deeper than the pussy of a bitch six feet
Stiff dicks feel sweet in this little petite
Young bitch from the street, guaranteed to stay down
Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound
Now I'm Billboard bound, niggas press to hit it
Play me like a chicken, thinkin' I'm pressed to get it
Rather do the killin' than the stick up juxs
Rather count a million while you eat my pussy
Push me to the limit, get my feelings in it
Get me open while I'm cummin' down your throat
Then, you wanna be my main squeeze, nigga
Don't cha, you wanna lick between my knees, nigga
Don't cha wanna see me whippin' your 3 down the Ave?
Blow up spots on bitches because I'm mad
Break up affairs, lick shots in the air
You get vexed and start swingin' everywhere
Me shifty? Now you wanna pistol whip me
Pull out your nine while I cock on mine
Yeah, what, nigga? I ain't got time for this
So what, nigga? I'm not tryna hear that shit
Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits
Adrienne Vittadini and Chanel 9 boots
Things that make up for all the games and the lies
Hallmark cards sayin', "I apologize"
Is you with me? How could you ever deceive me?
But payback's a bitch, motherfucker, believe me
Nah, I ain't gay, this ain't no lesbo flow
Just a lil' somethin' to let you motherfuckers know

Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck niggas, get money

Written by:
Roy Ayers, James Bedford, Kimberly Jones, Sylvia Denise Striplin, Christopher Wallace

Publisher:
Lyrics © TuneCore Inc., BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

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