Songtexte Friends and Money - Cory Gunz , Willie The Kid

Yeah
Yeah
TCP
Yeah
I don't even know how to start this shit
Where I should start this shit
Yeah
Check me out
I said um...

Yo
A buccaneer with the buck knife
I rock a bucket like Parrish Smith, amongst life
Disparaging, when they hate to see you splurging
Amongst friends, evil lurking
Determined, to push something German
A Benz if I'm certain
Or something even bigger, feel the jitters through the curtains
And bitches get jitty when the cars look itty bitty
The high rise, let 'em overlook the city
Sipping popular, I thought that's what we worked for, but still
Some niggas got delusional when shit got real
I mean it's one thing to want it
A whole 'nother thing to find pleasure in the
Fact your man ain't got enough to flaunt it
I want it for my brother like I want it for my own
Every man for himself, true indeed, but can't condone
All the fake shit, undermine the hatred
I guess I'm just too real, uprooted to basics
When both of y'all broke, it's cool
And if your man get some money, best believe it's even cooler
But let you get some, these niggas lose they medulla
I thought this what we both wanted, but now I see how niggas on it
Friends and money

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix
It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips
Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you
You see the real when that money come into the picture
Fake friends, real money, it can never mix
It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips
Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you
You see the real when that money come into the picture
Fake friends, real money
Fake friends, real money
Fake friends, real money
Yeah, it can never mix

Gun Rule in this bitch, where guns ruling this shit
Like tongues moving with lips, I told 'em I'm on my shit
Shit-shit-shit-shit hit the fan
Blow the show and flip a fan
Told the baller ball and ball
My balling point, kick the can
South BX, I'm out, P.S
Tell 'em what we 'bout, GS
3 Out, 3 left, feet out the chest
It's obvious, you count me less, you out, he next
These dingy niggas call it rap, they shout a mess
They talk shit on the internet, think they all could get out of net
Yes, it's Gunna, brothers keep a tool
A young mula bitch slumming and re-pursuing
Y'all gon' need our manure
Who are you fooling? Cool it, doofus
Or do it toothless, I'm stupid as Uncle Rufus
A stool is stooping, I'm mucus, the music that you compute with
To shoot it, mute me, excuse me, just mute it, shoot me
Back in the day, it was A-B-C, now I'm down my 1-2-3
Militia men, fishermen, split shit for fishes
Fin, my knishes, your bitch conditioning
Hell's Kitchen to that Michelin mission in Michigan
Position for richin', I'm finna twist my ignition in
It's dramatic, DiBiase, he ain't got no sense with him
Dog man, only Willy the Kid is the kin to him
Young Money, Cash Money, imprinted in synonyms
Got niggas sick of them like, "Yo
How the fuck they give him to them?"
Catch me on any corner store in America blending in
I ain't from it, go on, fuck it, my plan is the Benjamin, nigga

Fake friends, real money, it can never mix
It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips
Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you
You see the real when that money come into the picture
Fake friends, real money, it can never mix
It's all good 'til you both start stacking chips
Fake friends, real money, better let it miss you
You see the real when that money come into the picture
Fake friends, real money
Fake friends, real money
Fake friends, real money
Yeah, it can never mix

You know, I just don't think I've ever given me a chance to be me
But, of course, interestingly, at the exact same moment that
I achieved what'll probably prove to be my life's work
That's the moment when I started being the real me finally