Countin' Money - Bun B, Yo Gotti, Gucci Mane

Fuck a rubber band, a nigga need a bunch of ropes

Fuck a rubber band, a nigga need a bunch of ropes

Fuck a rubber band, a nigga need a bunch of ropes

Fuck a rubber band, a nigga need a bunch of ropes

(Yo Gotti)

Yo, it’s Gucci

R.I.P.

Pimp C mayne

(Get that street money, street money, street money)

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all day, count money all, money all

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all, money all, money all day

Say mayne, no matter where I go (I go), no matter what I do (I do)

If chillin with myself (myself) or ballin with my crew (my crew)

If skies is lookin cloudy or Bahama water blue

I got that money on my mind (my mind), so tell me what it do (it do)

And if you be like me, then you already knew it (knew it)

We goin for the money, then we goin right through it (through it)

We take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it (screw it)

Cause it ain’t nothin to it, where I come from but to do it (do it)

We get it in our hands and then it go right through the fingers (fingers)

We spend it on a system and a fresh set of swangers (swangers)

We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on our hangers (hangers)

That everyday struggle and can’t 'nam nigga change us (change us)

Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song (song)

Believe I had a poppin 'fore a label put me on (on)

It’s 2010 and I ain’t seein nothin wrong (wrong)

With niggas countin money all day fuckin long (long)

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all day, count money all, money all

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all, money all, money all day

Money toting, pistol carrying, young nigga thugged out

Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house

Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stupid swag

Rubber bands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags

A chain on my neck, you know that cost stupid cash

Maserati for the watch, that’s that foolish cash

Penitentiary chances, sixes on a muscle car

Bun told me keep it real and watch it take me far

Now my money don’t fold (fold), this money here

I ain’t make it for no hoes, I ain’t get this off no shows

Talk money all day, count money all night

Trust no one with my paper, so I count my paper twice

I be lonely without my paper, so I sleep with it at night

Now I wake up to my paper, so I start my day off right

They call me Cocaine Gotti, Mr. Money Over Bitches

Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all day, count money all, money all

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all, money all, money all day

I’m the shit bitch, you smell me?

Ain’t no need to check ya sneakers

Three bricks, plus a split with me, then bitch you got a hit (yeah)

Make money on my leisure

Pop bottles with top models, with my goons in Puerto Rico

Yo' girlfriend I’m a freak her (yeah)

Believe me I’m a turn you non-believers to believers

I own the team I play for, plus I coach 'em, I’m the center

The hottest rapper that you know, Big Willie like Cujo (Gucci)

I got one thousand, million ties, I sold your dice for uno

So tune into East Atlanta, uh

Please don’t change the channel ma

Roll the windows down back up, my Phantom, show my Audemars

Hangin out my part-a-ner, what you want—an autograph?

Thinkin that you angry cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all day, count money all, money all

Count money all day, count money all day

Count money all, money all, money all day