Ice Cube - Get Money, Spend Money, No Money lyrics

Yeah Gangsta Uh [Verse 1 - Ice Cube] Tell me all my children 'Fore I come through, is the hood in the building? (yes) You won't believe what I'm dealin This West coast sh**, oh what a feelin (ah) n***az think I'm drug dealin 'Cause I roll by with no motherf**in ceiling (none) Is he worth a hundred million? No need to ask Ice Cube how I'm livin (how ya livin loc?) I still got the recipe South Central LA is the pedigree Don't try to tell me what it better be I have your a** up in physical therapy A outlaw like a Cherokee The rap industry tried to bury me But if I died on the mic up at Larry B I'm so heavy you b**hes couldn't carry me [Chorus - Ice Cube - 2X] Get money, spend money, no money, lookin like a dummy (I really don't give a f**) Your money ain't my f**in money, got a pocket full of money (Come on homie throw it up) [Verse 2 - Ice Cube] I don't accept no disrespect Only thing I expect is self check Just grin and bare it Got an a** whoopin that your a** don't wanna inherit Most rappers are parrots They say what they told to say, to get a neck full of carrots/karats Got your mama embarra**ed How long 'fore they callin us terrorists? n***a, I'm serious I, keep it gangsta but I keeps a job 'Cause it's, hard to sleep when you steal and rob And ya, got to run here comes the blob 'Cause, Uncle Sam is like part of the Mob Break your self he'll take your wealth Don't get it twisted, you a motherf**in elf And Santa Claus will go for self All you got is your balls and your health [Chorus - 2X] [Verse 3 - Ice Cube] n***az brag about what they got But we don't own a skyscraper, now that's paper (now that's paper) One generation from slums Happy for these little crumbs, you little bums We saw you pull up but n***a shut up (shut up) You always talkin about a f**in car or truck You always talkin about some f**in rims or interior That kind of sh**'ll keep our a** inferior I'm tryin to eat tomorrow Ain't tryin to hear about the little bitty sh** you bought Saw your little bitty house on "Cribs" Where you f** your wife and feed your kids (uh uh) n***a be quiet, ain't sh** private Everything for sale, you can buy it All this self snitchin, all this self tellin Motherf**ers goin back to the watermelon [Chorus - 4X]