Countin' Money lyrics by Bun B - original song full text. Official Countin' Money lyrics, 2020 version | LyricsMode.com
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Bun B – Countin' Money lyrics
[Intro - Sample of DJ B-Do from "Grind Hard" by UGK] - 4X
Fuck a rubber band, a nigga need a bunch of ropes

[Gucci Mane talking over Intro] (Yo Gotti)
Yo, it's Gucci
R.I.P. Pimp C mayne
(Get that street money, street money, street money)

[Hook - Sample of DJ B-Do from "Grind Hard" by UGK]
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

[Verse 1 - Bun B]
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)

[Hook] - w/ ad libs

[Verse 2 - Yo Gotti]
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

[Hook] - w/ ad libs

[Verse 3 - Gucci Mane]
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 auto-graph?
Thinkin that you angry cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras

[Hook]

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