Meek Mill - Get Money n***a lyrics

[Intro] Gucci Meek Milly From ATL to Philly n***a, real recognize real Yeah, we hood rich b**h Trap God, turn us up [Verse 1: Gucci Mane] I'm a money getting n***a At least, that's just what I'm known for You better call on my connect And ask him what he put me on for I heard y'all n***as ballin' Then why the f** you take a loan for? Better get the f** out East Atlanta You n***as know you don't belong there All my n***as smoking strong here We don't talk reckless on the phone here A lot of cliques don't get along here Bricksquad my nig, we rock our own gear (Squad) I'm on the crib, sittin on the lawn chair I hope that you don't read me wrong But if I go pull out that tone, there I bet that you don't make it home I'm in the trap house with my long johns And I been trapping all day long They call me Baking Soda Armstrong Before it dry, that sh** be gone [Hook: Gucci Mane and Meek Mill] I'm a money getting n***a (Money getting n***a) At least, that's just what I'm known for (That's just what I'm known for) You better call up my connect (My connect) And ask him what he put me on for (What he put me on for) I heard y'all n***as ballin' (Ballin) Then why the f** you take a loan for? (Loan for) (You better stay up out of Philly, n***a You know you pussies don't belong here) [Verse 2: Meek Mill] Rose gold on my bottom six Half a mil on foreign whips I'm in the wheel with a foreign b**h I'm on the bra strap, and she on this dick Just bow down, you lame Your diamonds look strange I'm grinding like Wayne When he on that skateboard, I'm safe n***a your new girl's my old b**h My old b**h your new girl Young lil rich Philly n***a Them hoes tell me I'm too thorough I don't even f** one on one Cause when I come, I need two girls That's down to f** like all night Get them b**hes that hard pipe Ridin' with with a ho named Keisha And we smoking on Keisha Young n***a fresh like Easter Blood dripping on my sneakers Straight drop, I stick that I sell a brick, I get back That Molly look like a Tic Tac And I tell that ho that I get it back like 'Whoa' [Hook] [Verse 3: Gucci Mane] I drop a bag on yo' head, n***a And they'll locate yo' a** like OnStar I ain't have to buy sh**, n***a My n***a Waka got his own car You on my dick like you a b**h, n***a Why don't you go and quote yo' own bars? And I don't want to go back to jail, n***a But you gon' make me catch one more charge I could look and tell you're frail n***a But you keep on tryna to look hard Your friends keep asking "What's the smell, n***a?" That's your motherf**ing homeboys [Hook]