I'm a trill bitch
That's straight out the gate
And I'm cold as outter space
That is not up for debate
And I got a lot of drugs
And a new attitude
I should open up my closet
So you can see what it do
Got a white t-shirt, skinny jeans on
Black leather shoes straight, Louis V on 'em
Yeah I be on 'em
Like couples on a date
When I turn the lights on
All these bitches gonna hate
Turn the lights on
Ahh yeah
They just want the money money money
Cars cars clothes clothes
Ahh yeah
Bet you never met em like me
Swear this bitch is so trill yo
Ahh yeah
Call em 4 dolla bill hoes
Cause these bitches not real no
Ahh yeah
They just want the money money money
Cars cars clothes clothes
Bitch, I'm a real OT
These hoes don't know me
But I know you saw my homies
From across the fucking street
They were waiting in the car, all black
They were throwin' those things like that
And I know you heard that bangin' 808 up in the back
When it drop like that
When it drop like money
Shit's not fair
The shit's not funny
When you say those things
Behind your screen
Then you see my team and you're soft like bunnies
Don't like don't like don't like those niggas
Don't fight don't fight don't fight no bitch cause
The money do more damage than a motherfuckin' fist does
I be like, "Fuck the world. Fuck the world"
These 4 dolla bill bitches can't touch a girl
Cause you know I'm out here getting it
And I'm all about my business
On top of my shit
Don't need no handout from no nigga
Money money money cars cars clothes clothes
And when those car doors close
And them shades go down
I'm still killing these hoes
Writer(s): Richard Butler, Dwayne Nesmith, Eric Donnell Goudy, Earl Joseph Hood, Tiara Thomas
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com