Lyric Foe Tha Love Of $
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, pop in the clip of my nine, and bitch 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 nigga, Sin, at home, polishin the MAC-1O chrome. Gotta lick
we can hit, so bring your shit, cause once again, it s on. To the dome with a fifth of (burb), my wig to the curb, so we swerve
and rolled out to pick up the triple-six thug and follow the murder for robbin the dopehouse. Smoke jump outta me bong, so
high, now comin to slay with four grenades and a gauge. I m a play, watch all em fall in the grave and lay. Pullin in the
driveway, Wish spotted the place and quickly rolled up. Bulldozed through the living room, hopped out of the car, and started
to blow up. Buck, buck, and a kabloom, me blew all them bodies all over the room. Them doomed. And gotta move fast,
why? The po-po s comin . Snatch up me yummy, so nigga, don t think it s funny. I m comin up quick in the nine-quat, cause
Flesh be lovin this money, 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, givin up that 1lello, 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, shit! Here comes the muthafuckin cops, so I dash, I duck, and I hides
behind a tree, makin sure the muthafuckas 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, it s still muthafuck em. Now my game is tight. Tight as fuck is my game.
Eazy-muthafuckin -E or Eric Wright it s all the same. Now, niggas might trip on how I stacks my grip. I gotta have it, bitch.
for the love of this shit. Muthafucka!
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. Got nothin to lose, bitch. Ya
better respect Rip, or ya best just check this slug. 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
a barrel of a gun, see. For the dub, you re done. For the bud, I run, for the love of my money.
Krayzie:
Nigga 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
when niggas was bailin with sawed-offs and wanted to get paid. Runnin to my side, lil nigga, Ripsta, both on the mission for
money. You give up the cash, oh, that was your ass, cause me and my nigga was hungry. And, bitch, if you re stallin , you
might just catch one to the temple, and um, Bone raw doggin , so nigga just make this shit simple and run. To catch one nigga,
me fill em with bullets and dump em in rivers. Remember: me killa, now. For money, me dig ya six feet in a ditch and get
richer, cause, bitch, you were slippin . I ll cut ya, then rip ya, then buck ya down. Steady robbin and stealin , makin a killin .
Nigga drugdealin , needin a million. Hustlin drugs when the thugs be chillin . For the money, these niggas be sellin off in the
cut, where you find a nigga thuggin off in braids and skullies, and when I stick ya and lick ya, remember: I get em up for the
love of money.
For the love of money.
Krayzie:
Yeah, Bone in the muthafuckin house for the nine-quats, nigga, yeah, rollin with Ruthless Records in this bitch. My niggas,
Layzie Bone, Bizzy Bone, Wish Bone, and Flesh-n-Bone. And I m that nigga, Krayzie Bone, in the muthafuckin house.
Gotta make that money, man.
That money, man.
It s still the same, now.
Flesh:
Gotta get on the grind, pop in the clip of my nine, and bitch 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 nigga, Sin, at home, polishin the MAC-1O chrome. Gotta lick
we can hit, so bring your shit, cause once again, it s on. To the dome with a fifth of (burb), my wig to the curb, so we swerve
and rolled out to pick up the triple-six thug and follow the murder for robbin the dopehouse. Smoke jump outta me bong, so
high, now comin to slay with four grenades and a gauge. I m a play, watch all em fall in the grave and lay. Pullin in the
driveway, Wish spotted the place and quickly rolled up. Bulldozed through the living room, hopped out of the car, and started
to blow up. Buck, buck, and a kabloom, me blew all them bodies all over the room. Them doomed. And gotta move fast,
why? The po-po s comin . Snatch up me yummy, so nigga, don t think it s funny. I m comin up quick in the nine-quat, cause
Flesh be lovin this money, 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, givin up that 1lello, 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, shit! Here comes the muthafuckin cops, so I dash, I duck, and I hides
behind a tree, makin sure the muthafuckas 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, it s still muthafuck em. Now my game is tight. Tight as fuck is my game.
Eazy-muthafuckin -E or Eric Wright it s all the same. Now, niggas might trip on how I stacks my grip. I gotta have it, bitch.
for the love of this shit. Muthafucka!
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. Got nothin to lose, bitch. Ya
better respect Rip, or ya best just check this slug. 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
a barrel of a gun, see. For the dub, you re done. For the bud, I run, for the love of my money.
Krayzie:
Nigga 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
when niggas was bailin with sawed-offs and wanted to get paid. Runnin to my side, lil nigga, Ripsta, both on the mission for
money. You give up the cash, oh, that was your ass, cause me and my nigga was hungry. And, bitch, if you re stallin , you
might just catch one to the temple, and um, Bone raw doggin , so nigga just make this shit simple and run. To catch one nigga,
me fill em with bullets and dump em in rivers. Remember: me killa, now. For money, me dig ya six feet in a ditch and get
richer, cause, bitch, you were slippin . I ll cut ya, then rip ya, then buck ya down. Steady robbin and stealin , makin a killin .
Nigga drugdealin , needin a million. Hustlin drugs when the thugs be chillin . For the money, these niggas be sellin off in the
cut, where you find a nigga thuggin off in braids and skullies, and when I stick ya and lick ya, remember: I get em up for the
love of money.
For the love of money.
Krayzie:
Yeah, Bone in the muthafuckin house for the nine-quats, nigga, yeah, rollin with Ruthless Records in this bitch. My niggas,
Layzie Bone, Bizzy Bone, Wish Bone, and Flesh-n-Bone. And I m that nigga, Krayzie Bone, in the muthafuckin house.
