Money Bags

Intro Is this guy serious? Is this guy serious or what? Chorus Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands Let it out, let it out, let it out Verse I foresee the jealousy all in your eyes for sure Sure, they don't want to beef with my physique or my .44 Sure, life is sweet, I'm by the beach, sand all on the feet By the seat, the time we meet, we'll leave em' by the shore Sure, pop a bean em' right to sleep sheets of my decor With privacy, she grind on me and sweep on my rapport, whore Drama by the front door, pushing out the back door Trapping out the bando, leave em' by the trap door Money bags, money bags Ten bands, ten bands, ten bands (ten bands) Drop the babies in the car seat, must be the Courvoisier Tap on your boussie, valeting Cartier Car keys to the Marcielago and Courtier Wake up thankful everyday, feel like Sydney Portier Ayy ayy, soundbite, soundbite, woo Cheat code, cheat code, L1, down, right Damn right, damn right The nigga who your sound like, sound like Demons fucking up my focus Head vultures, precious death, death rows Pockets full of dead folks Prada soles full of dead roaches And some cud I stepped on Waiting for her to get left On the same place, dead bodies get left on But woke niggas get slept on Broke niggas get flexed on I really wish she had less on I might fuck her with a dress on Scratching on me with her breasts on We ain't stopping til' the next song Next song, next song, next song Outro: Lil Yacthy Ten bands, ten bands Money bags, money bags Money bags, money bags Ten bands, ten bands Ten bands, ten bands Ricky Owens on me look like Dom Pér St. Laurents on me, I don't wear Vans