"Fat Freddie man..."
"What's the matter with the fat man?"
"The dude ain't got your money...
He's been all stretched out, like he's come in some money or somethin"
"That's his ass"
"He's good for it. It's that bitch of his that's the problem"
"I got 50 men out on the street
Now if they all get bitch troubles I starve
Is that it, is that what you're telling me dude?"
Money machine, yeah
Do you even what the money machine sound like?
Money machine, haha, yeh,.. nigga, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
On, on, break of dawn
Can't stop nigga too hot early morn
I'm at the rim shop, fool, I really be on, my Chip Foose shit
Sketch it out and put it together, I really do this
Driving gloves Louis Vuitton, my shoes is
Glued to the pedal, press to the metal, I'm moving
Jets in the house bitch, you ain't help us move in
So why you got your hands out now stupid
Had you played your role
You would have got your credit at the end of the movie
Listening to them hoes, you on Front Street
Swimming in blood soaked clothes
Bitch it's shark week, ho you lunch meat
You thinking I'm somethin' sweet, got me confused
With the cotton candy hues on my 83
Diamonds against my wood, lighting one up for Pimp C
Riding with no tint to let them hoes know this
Smoke it, yeah
Nigga you can count on
Money machine (money machine)
You can count on
High rises, wise guysing
Mob wives counting dollars pile up
A batmobile in my drive way, the Skydiver
Bringing more kush, jet fueled to the fire
Round you them bad bitches acting mad quiet
Hoes in the line, tryna tag team Roddy - nigga it's the pilot
Boat deck in my Nautica sweats, I'm yachting
Open water wilding like a Somalian pirate
Spotted your bitch and she instantly plotted
On ditching your simping and riding
Jet life is simple, we got it
To be honest, them other fools is square boxes
Funny nigga singing now, they Jamie Foxxes
Don't trip, we gon' keep on doing our shit, fool!
Ain't nothing changed but the balance
On the accounts in my name keep adding, maine