money talk Justin Lovo

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[Intro]
(I'm thirty-four years old, and I'm dying)
(Shut yo' fuck ass up, nigga, fuck ass hoe, fuck you bitch)
(Eat my dick, nigga)
(Shut up, bitch, nigga, you a hoe)
(I don't give a fuck nigga)

[Chorus]
Yeah, I'm fuckin' on yo' hoe, she don't want you, she want me
I don't fuck with the groupies, they seem like they for the team
We gon' plan out the attack on you, we gon' fuckin' scheme
Point all of our berettas, red dot, red beam

[Verse]
We gon' pull up to the scene in Balenciaga jeans
We gon' slime your whole crew out, leave 'em like a broke machine
You ain't got no monеy flow, you copped your whole fit from Shein
Shе only want me for the bands, I'ma leave her ass on seen
I'ma cop Balenci', and then, I'ma cop some sick ricks
You better not be talkin' down or we'll pull up with some sticks
I'ma take some shots at you, I'm not talkin' 'bout no flicks
We gon' smack you out the park, home run, bat from Dicks
I'm feeling like I'm Aaron Ramsey, I'ma kill you with a shot
We making money illegally, hell nah, we won't get caught
You copy me, you my son, your lil' ass is who I taught

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