[Intro: Quebonafide]
Cause what excites us is called money
And dolls in heels, rides, rags and gambling
Cause what excites us is sometimes even sex
Mi casa es su casa imma party like a sheik
[Verse 1: Quebonafide]
Off the banknote Mahatma Gandhi grins
I walk out of the pawn shop folding the banknote files like a sandwich
These bankote are an occasion, that’s what I repeat like a mantra
So if you want to point something out to me, ask my relatives if I ever lied
It’s for everyone who wants to change for the better
I tried a billion times and it didn’t matter
Now I ain’t gon’ share what I got for the rupees
I had the nerve to share what I make a minute
Karma strikes back, despite the money I feel poor again
You get what you work for, that’s how life spits in yo’ face
I maunder down the slums, here I’ll spend the night
And then all I own will be my curse (I’m going mad)
Wherever I look I see them shoes made in Asian factories
I don’t even know: Is there still something worth fighting for?
I want a peace of mind but all I have is pain like hell
So say what am I to do? Maybe walk bare-fuckin’- foot?
Everywhere these worn faces, swollen hands
I look at folks and I congeal like an image
Thinking by the way, what really is my happiness?
This cheerful chorus plays on Bollywood’s other side
Cause what excites us is called money
And dolls in heels, rides, rags and gambling
Cause what excites us is sometimes even sex
Mi casa es su casa imma party like a sheik
[Verse 1: Quebonafide]
Off the banknote Mahatma Gandhi grins
I walk out of the pawn shop folding the banknote files like a sandwich
These bankote are an occasion, that’s what I repeat like a mantra
So if you want to point something out to me, ask my relatives if I ever lied
It’s for everyone who wants to change for the better
I tried a billion times and it didn’t matter
Now I ain’t gon’ share what I got for the rupees
I had the nerve to share what I make a minute
Karma strikes back, despite the money I feel poor again
You get what you work for, that’s how life spits in yo’ face
I maunder down the slums, here I’ll spend the night
And then all I own will be my curse (I’m going mad)
Wherever I look I see them shoes made in Asian factories
I don’t even know: Is there still something worth fighting for?
I want a peace of mind but all I have is pain like hell
So say what am I to do? Maybe walk bare-fuckin’- foot?
Everywhere these worn faces, swollen hands
I look at folks and I congeal like an image
Thinking by the way, what really is my happiness?
This cheerful chorus plays on Bollywood’s other side
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