Work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work

I fell in love with them commas, I blow that bag, I don't count it.

Pyrex fashion, I got that drip off the corner, I got that drip off the counter.

What’s happenin’? Back door cutthroat business, street bosses in designer.

Jumped on the scale, went digital, jumped off the plane, changed the climate.

Still in the club with my scope, still in the cut with my piece.

Still the type to get it done, you ain't gotta ask twice.

Bent the corner, we ain't even lookin’ for them.

We gon’ hit everybody.

Put a bag on your head, put a bag on my lady,

Got her fresher than everybody.

They tried to leave me for dead, but I climbed out the grave,

Fresh to death on everybody.

Now they gotta live by it, you ain't outside if you ain't hear about me.

They tried to ride on the wave, I put a line in her place,

I smoke the pressure away, I'm on that block where they swap out the tools for K’s.

Can’t walk on that block unless it raised you.

I was just down bad, had to get off my grind.

Now the Ace come out by the caseload. No cap.

You the type to call somebody big bro, tryna get to his bag.

I'm the type to get it handled.

I put my city on back, then I put my city on plasmas.

I did this off the muscle, I got this straight out the gravel.

Lying in your songs, asking why they never listen?

’Cause it never happened. Young one get active.

Remember skipping class, 14, we was hustlin’.

(Servin’ hella yay, servin’ hella soda.

My lady work the phones, dope boy work the stove.)

Work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!) work, (Get That Money!)

These dudes gotta be playin’.

These dudes cannot be thinkin’ like we are, not one and the same.

I feel like that one, on baby.

Ain’t no one can say that they made me.

I don’t care how many times you gave your love away,

’Cause I ain’t the one to claim it.

Foreign vibe, but the love local, wanna slide, gotta lock in with the gang.

Young one carryin’ the iron, he gon’ let it fly, don’t even know how to aim.

Just jumped on a flight, made 30 racks, ain’t even jumped off the plane.

Trenches caught somebody slippin’ just the other day,

But I’ma still shine in these chains.

Most dudes move with they fire on ’em,

’Bout who gon’ be first to flame it.

Try me? That pressure applied, smoke exotic, now that sound a new strain.

Back and forth with a shorty, that’s what you gon’ do, but it’s what I can’t.

Real ones rock with me, bad ones flock to me, that’s why you hate.

Know someone slick from the whole gang, Telfar in exchange.

Chickens jumpin’ out the coop, bustin’ out the roof, bought it off a brand new plate.

Turned the city up all summer, now it’s time for a brand new location.

I fell in love with them commas, I blow that bag, I don’t count it. Work.

I got that drip off the corner, I got that drip off the counter. Work.

Back door cutthroat business, street bosses in designer. Work.

Jumped on the scale, went digital, jumped off the plane, changed the climate. Work.

Work. Work. Work. Work.

(Servin’ hella yay, servin’ hella soda.

My lady work the phones, dope boy work the stove.)