Brooklyn Funk Essentials - I got cash lyrics

I got cash in f** you quantities Know what? That makes you uncomfortable? f** you and the Range Rover you drove in on f** your Saab convertable And f** your twice weekly trips to the an*lyst Stupid mutha f** f** the Hamptons The fly infested south of France I'm paid a**hole I got more cash than God can count So why don't you just... die? Choke to d**h on your damn designer bagel from Balducci's Low cholesterol, naturally f** your big ol' Sunday New York Times f** the Wall Street Journal And News Week And the lot Including Nation, Village Voice, Guardian and the rest Stupid set of priviliged mutha f**ers Think its fashionable to have an alternative view An alternative view And f**, if you can Your pencil thin, Evian drinking, calorie counting, caffiene limiting, sodium spearing, nutrasweet sweetening, read view mirror preening, carrot nibbling bunny Go drown in a lake of Diet Coke, f**er I got cash, what else matters? I got cash Slave f** your fencing and screw your squash Piss on your Paulo and your Pavarotti f** all that sh** you call music and pretend to enjoy I got cash Mega cash I'm happy with that Oh go and sit on your ski rug Money talks you little p**y You let your politically correct pals know That i think you're a dick also You dirty a**hole And your idea of multiculturalism Japanese resturant on Monday Indian on tuesday And on Wednesday, Caribbean Not to spicy please Well I got stash on stash and it ain't novo cash Moneys in my family for generations My great great great grandfather made the bag Selling European slaves in Africa I got cash mutha f**ah And you can't tell whether or not I'm joking, can you? Dumb f**