Freddie Gibbs, Chuck Inglish, Bun B, Dan Auerbach and Chip Tha Ripper - Oil Money

Where do we have to go?
I don't know, let me know where we end up
Cause I'm not about to sit
And watch it get us
Just picture the stickers is on it
And it's flashy, flauntin‘
Funny but them people only want
That gold to pawn it
I need that gold to wear it
On the court like I'm Jordan
Performin‘, I'm scorin' way more
Than I'm supposed to
And I'm lookin' way better in
Person than my photos
But lets not talk about me
Lets talk about this
If it's too hot, then take your hands off
Pass it like Joe Montana champions
Hats off, salute
Now what do you look forward to
The landing or the take off get back
Cause them Apes I gotta Harlem Shake off
I got the paint I just need
Some shit to paint on

This is a lullaby
Not intended to make you cry
But to open up your eyes and in this lullaby
You got to do right before you die
Before you die

Cleveland nigga, wintertime I catch a flight
To somewhere sunny come to visit
Fuck yo couch they shouldn't have
Gave us niggas money for the honeys
Like they woulda said in ‘94
Bumpin' Jodisee
And anything I say'll prolly go
While we smoking in that ‘Lac truck
Headed to the mall
Now we coppin' even though I left
My wallet in the car
Yeah she got it, deposit: we got
It, good credit, good head
And it's all copasetic
She cool and she get it, priceless
And nice tit's, she got
That look twice chest
She righteous we might just
Valet the Mercedes in the front just
To give ‘em what they want
Cameras flashin', hoppin' out with the blunt

Who knew this rappin' shit would pay off
I'm firin' up the kill like I
Got fired on my day off
Seen a whole lotta niggas get broken by
Some broad they like to break off
And the same old bitch they
Spent that change with
Be the same bitch I'm gon' shake off
The monster of the mid yo
Quick to Richard Dent a nigga
Peace to all my OT hoes and the
Gifts they love to send a nigga
Fresh white socks and a black d bones
We done broke down bags
With the realest niggas
Spittin' these flows on stage at the show
Blowin' Optimos and Swishas witcha
(Feel it nigga?)
If y'all don't, then I can keep my day job
Ski mask my uniform
Them dope dealers gon' stay robbed
T-top ceiling and my dank
Still stankin' and I
Crush ya feelings like the Saints did Peyton

Fresh pair of Levi's, white tee
And 6 Carmines
Hoppin' out some 2010 shit yes
The car's mine
Sittin' in Corinthians sit back
Watch the stars shine i know you starstruck
Shit I can leave a star blind
Booyah, just like Isiah
A playa, the pro bowl, the mayor
I'm so cold, they stare
The ho stroll's prepared
I'm pimpin' my ride out then back to my lair
The honeycomb hideout
Your honey's gon' hide out in
My crib like a fugitive
She wanna have a ball I told
Her I got two to give
She wanna see the flashin'
Lights and red carpet
I let her pop a double stack
I'm tryin' to start shit
She's on a bear skin, layin' in her bare skin
Her body's super thick and it's fair
Skin - I'm there then
On the sofa, smokin' jacket, Gucci loafers
And I'm blowin' on a Swisher
While she's blowin' me

Written by:
FREDDIE GIBBS, JONATHAN KELLER, RICHARD PARRY, BERNARD FREEMAN, EVAN INGERSOLL, CHARLES JAWANZAA WORTH, DAN AUERBACH, CHARLES WORTH, J.P. KELLER

Publisher:
Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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