at the front door I'm like "who is it?" it's Benjy, tell my lil n-gga "goin get it" cause I've been counting all this dirty paper for a minute Lamborghini
[Fat Joe - Verse 1] Wrist on froze, thanks to the stove; Mattress financial, bank's never closed; Monday to Sunday, serve all addicts; Joey Van Gundy,
Wrist on froze thanks to the stove Mattress financial, bank's never closed Monday through Sunday, serve all addicts Joey Van Gundy, watch me work the
You never give me your money You only give me your funny paper And in the middle of negotiations You break down I never give you my number I only give
finds the money when you pay the rent? Did you think that money was heaven sent? Friday night arrives without a suitcase Sunday morning creeping like a nun Monday
talk Make Make Make that Money (yea) Imma take that money [Verse 2:] You can catch me in the A now I'm like hey now Magic city Monday's Mama drop it
all eyes on me I'm brutal, choppin' Up that paper like you know Gotta click since I call them blue notes Shippin' that paper from earth to pluto Get that
, it's the same that's it's gon' be Automatics get tragic when you let *** have it Then I'm caught back up like before, I gotta stack my cabbage Monday
as fuck, a chicken tryin? to scheme on chickens Greedy as fuck, to pay the bitch, she keep on lickin? I love the hoe She?s out to get my paper fo? sho
game type Love fuckin' bitches in the same night My words are aphrodisiacs if you say 'em right The club be poppin' So I'm stoppin' at the Fat Burger Look through the paper
Riding on the City of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday morning rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors and twenty-five sacks
's papers And pretending the tsunami hasn't hit Friday was the crucifixion Saturday, cremation under glass The resurrection was on Sunday No, correction, make it Monday 'Cause Monday
sense it Hallelujah, bless my soul Monday morning, you enter hell Not me, I'm not a fool, no, I'm not a whore Haven't sold my soul Monday morning,
I was a good kid I wouldn?t do you no harm I was a nice kid With a nice paper-round Forgive me any pain I may have brung to you With God?s help I know
Ridin' on the city of New Orleans Illinois Central Monday mornin' rail Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of
I be back in like a couple of days is what I told my woman Yo aight Take me a second to breathe and let stress go Walk out, grab my paper and wave next
find the money when you pay the rent? Did you know that money was Heaven sent? Friday night arrives without a suitcase Sunday morning creeping like a nun Monday