D-Reck - Cash lyrics

(*ad-libs*) (Chorus: Noke D) I'm talking cash, n***a Gripping grain, swanging lanes We talking cash, n***a Candy paint on all them Range We talking cash, n***a Don't try to stop my shine We talking cash, n***a Cause I tussle on the mind I'm talking cash, n***a - 4x [Big Moe] It's Big Moe I stepped up in the door Out the Southside b**h I'm far from a hoe I ain't even scared and you know I'm down to wreck it I'ma hit the bed Moe-Yo gone get naked Got to strap my Glock, got to strap my ding-a-ling Out the Southside, Moe-Yo gone sing sing I'ma swing swing, crawl down slow It's that Big Moe and you know I'm no hoe I'ma knock down that hoe Toni Braxton It's Moe-Yo come down there hating hoes I'm taxing ?Slacking sleeping off? you can't be talking about my click You know it's Wreckshop, hating hoes be on dick It's that boy Moe, I'm out the Southside I done came down, Moe-Yo I'm gone chop Ain't gone stop to the T-O-P I creep I'm putting it down from the M-O to the E My n***a Noke Deezy, all about his cheezy It's the Moe-Yo claim p**y got to be greasy Got to keep it wet, on the mic I be's a vet I'm coming down five thousand gotta get my check If you want me to be on your song, or sing a damn hook It gotta be five grand b**h I'm coming down cool With my n***a what Blue U Out the Southside, M-O-E a damn fool With my partner D-Reck, hoes they been checked It's that Wreckshop, earning paper and our respect And my brother K-Luv, my n***a Big Toon Knocking down soon, Moe-Yo gotta get a room At the end of the f**ing night, I'm gone be f**ing It's that Moe coming down, I do the gangsta strutting My n***a King One, let's have fun My partners Keke, Weets, the Lil Red coming down on hard My n***a High G, you know he's down with me M-O to the E, from the 1, 2, 3 The Wreckshop tree, that's where I be from Partner Silly Yo coming down on f**ing hard (Chorus) [Pimp C] Since I was 17, I've been sipping on sip b**h n***as come through empty out the clip I love old school cars, with candy a** paint Your other n***as pussies cause them other n***as fake You hollin' you a k**a but I know you ain't no k**a I see you in the street b**h I'm a trill a** n***a And now since the eighties, putting n***as down Letting motherf**ers hear all that ba** around I ride an Impala, don't pop my collar Coming through the record company, want all my dollas You ain't got my paper b**h, you don't get no dick And I ain't put my dick in the uh you wrecked Cause tramp hoes be talking, on the pilla walking Out the street get them hoes, telling em bout all your clothes And your car sitting on gold, and how much you get at shows You shouldn't trust that b**h, that b**h will get you hit I see it all the time, b**hes get knocked on the grind Keep it ten with that wife, coming back in the middle of the night Say b**h you need to stop, you need to sell some co*k You need to get off them rocks, and get on private yachts I'm talking bout they cousin, coming through b**hes buzzing Drinking on hennessy, b**h you don't know Pimp C You late on the slab, coming through whipping a** I whip it up in the lab, and put it out like it's dark around (Chorus)