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Moneyman - Tgut Lyrics


By: Admin | Artist: T tgut | Published: 2024-24-09T07:22:25:00+07:00
Moneyman - Tgut LyricsLirikku.ID - Moneyman - Tgut Lyrics: Halo Lirikku.ID, Dalam konten ini, kami menyediakan chord gitar untuk lagu "Moneyman - Tgut Lyrics" yang dinyanyikan oleh Toton T tgut. Dengan chord yang disajikan, pemula atau penggemar musik dapat dengan mudah memainkan lagu ini dengan gitar mereka sendiri. Kami menyajikan chord dengan akurasi tinggi sehingga pemain dapat mengikuti alunan musiknya dengan baik. Juga, kami akan memberikan informasi tambahan mengenai lirik lagu dan mungkin beberapa tips untuk menyempurnakan permainan gitar. Konten ini cocok untuk penggemar musik yang ingin belajar lagu baru atau bagi mereka yang ingin menikmati kesenangan bermain musik dengan gitar. Silahkan disimak Moneyman - Tgut Lyrics Berikut Dibawah ini untuk Selanjutnya.

[intro: hoodrich pablo juan]
rich hood n-gga, pablo juan n-gga
you know what the f-ck goin’ on, n-gga
true story, no lie, three times
let’s go

[chorus: hoodrich pablo juan]
don’t call my phone unless you talkin’ money
my designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
send that b-tch mia, she come back with a tan
that ain’t my b-tch, i leave her to the other man
whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not b-tter man
put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
we shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
f-ck these b-tches and st-tches and fame, i want money man

[verse 1: hoodrich pablo juan]
stick on my hip, blue benjamin bankroll like a crip
iced out, i need a quilt
stuck in the slave days with the chains and the whip
am i racist because i like all white bricks?
it’s a chicken race, we see the police and we buyin’ it
new racks, we do not do leases
i got m16’s, ain’t talkin’ ’bout b-tches
my dope bell ringin’, my trap beat
forty gram blunt like the seasons, at the four seasons
f-cked every b-tch since i f-ck ’em and leave ’em
chopper’s a b-tch, i might just start bleedin’
on allah, i got more haters than jesus
complete the puzzle, you ain’t got all the pieces
so much money, take care of auntie and nieces
i f-ck like the energizer, just like easter
i be on the best exotic good reefer

[chorus: hoodrich pablo juan]
don’t call my phone unless you talkin’ money
my designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
send that b-tch mia, she come back with a tan
that ain’t my b-tch, i leave her to the other man
whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not b-tter man
put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
we shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
f-ck these b-tches and st-tches and fame, i want money man

[verse 2: g herbo]
big g herbo, i remember havin’ c0ke and dope
mentally was in the kitchen mixin’ c0ke and dope
i was readin’, writin’ rhymes in my rap book
f-ck around, now i get a book of c0ke a show
i got fans out of indiana, kokomo
bape t’s comin’ straight from out of tokyo
cost a few g’s soon as i walked in the door
cost me two g’s, that’s for my lil fit, you know
what it’s worth i spent a bag on my g-fazos
but i still know how to swag in them penny loafs
gucci, louis, that’s my swag on the really though
saint laurents don’t gotta sag ’cause they fitted, bro

[chorus: hoodrich pablo juan]
don’t call my phone unless you talkin’ money
my designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
send that b-tch mia, she come back with a tan
that ain’t my b-tch, i leave her to the other man
whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not b-tter man
put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
we shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
f-ck these b-tches and st-tches and fame, i want money man

[verse 3: tee grizzley]
b-tch i’ll blow out your brains
y’all n-ggas ain’t gang gang
spent a whole thing on my chain
used to cookin’, bag up ‘caine
i’m on the west, free geewee, that’s my blooda, b-tch
i’m on that east, posted in brooklyn, free them shmurdas, b-tch
i’m in houston with j prince, shout out mob
you gon’ hear ’bout a n-gga gettin’ k!lled if i ever get robbed
b-tch, i ain’t tryna talk if you ain’t tryna slob
platinum sellin’ artist, but i’ll put you on the news
n-gga, that’s on god

[chorus: hoodrich pablo juan]
don’t call my phone unless you talkin’ money
my designer shoes in my closet a hundred grand
send that b-tch mia, she come back with a tan
that ain’t my b-tch, i leave her to the other man
whip it up, they can’t believe it’s not b-tter man
put a four in the twenty, we call it that muddy tan
we shoot with the chopper, make him do the running man
f-ck these b-tches and st-tches and fame, i want money man


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