Money E-40 (Ft. Jay Rock & Mozzy)

[Chorus]
Money in my jeans goin' stupid on hoes
Money, ballin' like this, you don't gotta pack clubs, ballin'
Money in my jeans goin' stupid on hoes
Money, ballin' like this, you don't gotta pack clubs, ballin'
Money, money, money, money
Money, money, money, money

[Verse 1: E-40]
Talkers, they say I won't last, but I surpass
Every nigga that hated, look at me momma I made it
I started with a pinch of that yowda when I was jugglin'
Then my yapers started tripling, quadrupling then sextupling
North California where the hustlers reside
Where we learn to keep our silence like carbon monoxide
Some of my homies go to school to be a cook or a chef
Some of my fellas in the slums sell marijuana and meth
Never met Condoleezza, but I got rice for sale
On the Hillside of Vallejo helping my momma pay her bills
Taking my chances on going to jail, avoiding them prison walls and them cells
E'ery now and then I like to spoil myself
Got rich thrice, then I did it again
Shoutout to Obama for letting my folks up out the pen
Everyday my birthday I don't know about you
Sometimes I act my age sometimes the size of my shoe
Bitch