Young Money, they go
Sittin' on the toilet, smokin' on some medicated
Countin' loose thousands, I'm living good, they aggravated
Two things on my mind, one is to keep stylin'
And the second is to get more of this shit that I'm counting
Call me J-2-0, I flow like a fountain
And I swear I beat the beat up till that bitch start ouchin'
Keep them bitches' asses bouncin', man we fly like a falcon
Comparing them to us is like a pebble to a mountain
I'm a uptown flamethrower young money fire starter
Had to sign to Wayne, I'm from the same place as "Tha Carter" Ha-Harlem
And I ain't like none of these other niggas
I get it, I spend it, your husband on a budget, Mrs.
Young Money cloud gang so above you niggas
Besides these groupies after the shows, who's fuckin' with us?
You might as well have a badge, the way you cuff them bitches
I slut them bitches, then back to the door, like fuck them bitches

[Chorus]
Times ain't the same, shit been going bad
But nigga we good, nigga we gooder than a mu'fucka
Than a mu'fucka, this for my mu'fuckas
We run this mu'fucka
So fuck them niggas
And fuck them hoes
Money talks,
We say hello
And I'm so, I'm so
I'm so Young Moolah baby

OK it's too much paper and not enough hands to count it
Paper coming in money never going outward
Its young money yeah I hear a lot of niggas doubting
This here is God's work, ain't nothing you can do about it
So nigga join the team or you can catch the sideline
And just get out the game or get hit from the blind side
We makin' money while you niggas makin' petty quotes
You can make it rain, we make it flood like the levee broke
It's all about the paper, money control my whereabouts
About a year from now I'm tryin' to break that new McLaren out
Wheels of fortune on the whip, Vanna White in it
Bitch shotgun, probably be your wife in it
Hustle year round nothing come in front of that
Rap real estate and work, I can make a ton with that
Pay me in advance so I'm not coming bitch
Like Pain, Wayne and Mack Maine, I got money bitch

[Chorus]

Yeah, Young Money I'm the boss, you don't wanna come across
Money do somersaults, Bentley on young adults
Stuntin' on them hoes, it ain't me, its the money folk
Still make it rain, get struck by a money bolt
What it is though, I know what it ain't
Y'all go hard, I go to the bank
Check my check stubs, bitch it's Mack Maine
Young money up and runnin', join the campaign

Times ain't the same, shit been goin' bad
Bend a bitch over, pull some money out her ass
I'm tired of the game, 'cause it ain't what it was
The chopper's so close, I can give that bitch a hug
And a gangster need love, so I keep a gangster bitch
I got that dope dick, there ain't a bitch I can't addict
And I'm lookin' at the game, I roll my eyes
I looked at the clock and the hands were tied because

[Chorus]

Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby
Yeah
Young Moolah baby

Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): ANDRE CHRISTOPHER LYON, CARL E. LILLY, DWAYNE CARTER, EDWARD JOHN MONTILLA, JARVIS ANTONIO MILLS, JERMAINE ANTHONY PREYAN, MARCELLO VALENZANO