"FOE THA LOVE OF $"
(Radio Edit)
BONE THUGS-N-HARMONY featuring Eazy-E
For the love of money.
Gotta make that money, man.
That money, man.
It's still the same, now.
Flesh:
Gotta get on the grind, give it up to the nine-nine. If you slip,
you hit the chalk and fall in the nighttime. Gotta get mine, ain't
takin' no shorts or no losses. Hop on the phone, callin' my homie,
Tav, at home, polishin' the MAC-10 chrome. Gotta lick we can hit, so
call the click, 'cause once again, it's on. To the dome with a fifth
of burb, my wig to the curb, so I swerve and roll on to pick up the rest
of my thugs and straight on a mission for countin' up more, now. Choke
when I hit the bong, fin to run like everyday with four thugs I'm a roll
with and stroll with 'till we get in a grave and lay. Pullin' in the
driveway, Wish spotted the place and quickly rolled up. Gotta make
that money, man, hopped out of the ride; see Flesh done showed up.
Buck, buck, and a kabloom, so drop it on down when them enter
the room. Them doomed. And I'm shakin' the dice and hittin' me
naturals on them fools, and I'm lookin' lovely. Ya better not think
it's funny. I'm comin' up quick in the nine-quat, 'cause Flesh be lovin'
this money.
Layzie:
I'm givin' up love to the hustlas, all them St.Clair thugstas,
makin' that money, stayin' on your feet. And you better believe
gotta have that cheese for the green leaves, never catch me sleep. Stay
on the grind, get mine, stayin' down for my crime, and I hit up the nine
nine, gotta keep that bankroll, makin' me sale--twenties, nickels and dimes.
Beat up and stick up a lick up, that two-eleven, gotta get what's
mine, then bailin'. Me kickin' up dust, I'm trailin', feelin'
one-eight-seven. That's how it is, and I gotsta have it in the nine-quat.
Mission: to check a mill and still be real. Thuggin' on
the glock-glock, creepin' on a come up, won't sleep 'til I'm done up, gotta
blaze me blunt up, hunt up another plot and scheme, gotta make some green,
'cause soldiers nut up. What up? Gotta get that business on,
even though the buddah run me, stun me, feelin' lovely, but I'm just in it
for the love of the money.
For the love of money.
Gotta make that money, man.
That money, man.
It's still the same, now.
Eazy-E:
Standin' on the corner, straight slangin' rocks. Aw, man! Here
comes the crooked-ass cops, so I dash, I duck, and I hides behind a tree,
makin' sure the po-pos don't see me. Now my fat sack of rocks--hell,
yeah, I stuffed 'em. Police on my draws. I had to pause, and
yeah, I still don't trust 'em. Now my game is tight. Tight as
hell is my game. Eazy-E, CPT, Eric Wright it's all the same. Now,
those might trip on how I stacks my grip. I gotta have it, yeah. for
the love of this, stupid sucka!
Gotta make that money, man.
That money, man.
It's still the same, now.
Bizzy:
When dough got me thugsta, thuggish ways, down for my crime everytime.
Follow me down the nine nine, and you will find all of me kind.
Check out the Ripsta, now, drop down. Run 'em up outta me hood.
Rip's straight when I'm makin' me grip with a me click, rollin' with
Ruthless, the thug I be. Me put 'em in mud, buck 'em, and pump blood.
For the love of money with nothin' to lose, rollin' with trues, bailin'
with thugs. It's goin' down, steady pump and peel rounds, gunnin'
with a me gang. Bang. Gotta make that money, man. It's
still the same, steady runnin' thangs wild. And follow me now, while
I take ya up into the darkside, where we run, see. For the dub, you're
done. For the bud, I run, for the love of my money.
Krayzie:
I get down for my thang off in this thug game. So peep as me creep
and me crawlin' off on the mission to back in the days Krayzie was bailin'
with thugs that wanted to get paid. Runnin' to my side, lil' thugsta,
Ripsta, both on the mission for money. You give up the cash, now drop
back down fast, 'cause me and my partner was hungry. And, if you are
stallin', you might catch a blow to the temple, and um, Bone raw doggin',
so just make this lick here simple and run. To Hell, we send 'em, me
fill 'em with bangs and dump 'em in rivers. Remember: me peel
ya, now. For money, me dig ya so deep in a ditch and get richer, 'cause,
trick, you were slippin'. I'll get ya, and rip ya, so bucked up now.
Steady robbin' and stealin', makin' a killin', get 'em, drugdealin',
needin' a million. Makin' me money where thugs be chillin'. For
the money, these fools be sellin'. Cleveland, wher you find me thuggin'
off in braids and skullies, and when I stick 'em and lick 'em, remember:
I get 'em up for the love of money.
For the love of money.
Back
"Foe Tha Love of $ (Radio Edit)" Lyrics
Copyright © MCMXCVIII
WasteLand Lyrics: The Art of Bone.
All rights reserved.