Drumma Boy - Can't Interfere Wit My Money lyrics

[Verse 1: Gucci Mane] I done robbed n***as, been robbed n***a I done shot n***as, been shot at n***a If you love your n***as you fire for your n***as Cause Waka my n***a, I'd die for my n***a Spent seventy-five on this Rollie' Tote a .45 like the police If I'm a ho, come show me Big Gucci O.G. like Tookie If you told her why just like Pookie Then I'mma gonna have to k** a junky Since Nino snitched at the end my n***a he cannot be my role model Like Big Meech, like John Gotti I ain't never told on nobody Got tear drops, but nobody Blew your brains out your head to make you think about it I'm cancerous, I'm the dangerous And I don't need no n***a, I can handle this I got good aim, I don't panic quick And I have a n***a funeral candle lit Like Dunk say, you wanna rob n***a, well me and you probably on the same sh** This ain't a lick, and I don't know you 'Fore I shake your hand, I put a hole in it [Hook: Gucci Mane] You ain't gonna bring me my bread n***a Can't interfere with my money I'mma put change on your head n***a Can't interfere with my money Heard you snitching to the feds n***a They can't interfere with my money I ain't got time to be playing with ya' Can't interfere with my money Heard you ain't got no money no more But it can't interfere with my money Say that you running up on me n***a But it can't interfere with my money Fronted you some and you still ain't paid But it can't interfere with my money Like I'm a b**h, I'm gon' let you play But it can't interfere with my money [Verse 2: Gucci Mane] Treat the rap game like the trap game, so you can't interfere with my money Treat these rap n***as like little kids, when you do wrong you get punished I'm an M.C. but I'm from the street, these f** n***as ain't one-hundred Got monkey nuts on my handgun, so my nine hold 'bout two-hundred Seen a YouTube, 'bout a n***a saying that he gon' do me then run it But the only thing he gon' do is start running when I start gunning 'Fore I'm talking to you, I'm busting at you, this Russian prolly crack your bone marrow Let your brother be your pallbearer, shoot you in your head like cousin Harold All my n***as got pistols on 'em, all my guns got extensions on 'em Turned your favorite rapper to a victim, homie And no witnesses to be snitching on me Say the n***a died with his pistol on him Crime scene, taking pictures of him Had a wake funeral and a shower for him When you see the n***a, lay a flower on him [Hook] [Verse 3: OG Boo Dirty] Gangster as I wanna be, mobbing to the third degree No n***a gon' f** with me, I keep them shooters 'round me And I don't really f** with n***a, why the f** they trying me? My hand where that nine be, two shots through your eyelids These rap n***as getting distorted, that's why I'm glad I'm a trap n***a Million dollar strap n***a, brains in your lap n***a O.G. of my city, check my status n***a Shooting like John Paxson n***a My goons automatic n***a When it's time to ride out, my n***as don't hide out Choppers in the hideout, time to break the iron out We k**ing for them rubber bands, bombing like Afghanistan Pull up in a Hummer truck, spit fire out like I'm drummer boy [Hook]