Funny Money Talib Kweli & Madlib
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Funny Money" by Talib Kweli & Madlib. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro]
Yeah
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
[Verse 1]
Mr. International, passport pimpin
City street dweller, every asphault different
Hittin with Jean and The Roots, my man Black Thought rippin
Now a glass goes whistlin, my rap flow's switchin up
Wait, the promoter bitchin', is this asshole trippin'?
Why my cash flow missin'?
Don't fuck around this is how I make a livin'
Stop, listen, get the guap'
My kids can't eat my love for hip-hop
This ain't the circus, I don't see no big top
So who ya tryin to clown your money like Chris Rock
Don't make me laugh witcha funny money
[Interlude]
Yeah, uhh, yeah, hehehehehe, ehyeah, yo
[Verse 2]
These promoters shady and they good for broken promises
Some of them scared of the hood so they only promote the colleges
I'm havin problems with excuses
Especially when it comes to my money and the contract is exclusive
They sell the tickets wit'cha name up in lights an' shit
But when it's time to pay they came up with all type of shit
Or tried to pay me in marijuana
The crowd was so thin he blamed Osama and the Twin Tower bombers
In my pocket like a thief and there ain't no honor
Livin all reckless like there ain't no karma
You ain't on punishment, I ain't your momma
I just had to expose the truth like Leonardo DaVinci when he paint Madonna
Yeah
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
Ladies, make it hot, girls, make it hot
[Verse 1]
Mr. International, passport pimpin
City street dweller, every asphault different
Hittin with Jean and The Roots, my man Black Thought rippin
Now a glass goes whistlin, my rap flow's switchin up
Wait, the promoter bitchin', is this asshole trippin'?
Why my cash flow missin'?
Don't fuck around this is how I make a livin'
Stop, listen, get the guap'
My kids can't eat my love for hip-hop
This ain't the circus, I don't see no big top
So who ya tryin to clown your money like Chris Rock
Don't make me laugh witcha funny money
[Interlude]
Yeah, uhh, yeah, hehehehehe, ehyeah, yo
[Verse 2]
These promoters shady and they good for broken promises
Some of them scared of the hood so they only promote the colleges
I'm havin problems with excuses
Especially when it comes to my money and the contract is exclusive
They sell the tickets wit'cha name up in lights an' shit
But when it's time to pay they came up with all type of shit
Or tried to pay me in marijuana
The crowd was so thin he blamed Osama and the Twin Tower bombers
In my pocket like a thief and there ain't no honor
Livin all reckless like there ain't no karma
You ain't on punishment, I ain't your momma
I just had to expose the truth like Leonardo DaVinci when he paint Madonna
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