Artist: Fes Taylor f/ House Gang, L.I.S., S.I.C. Album: What I Got 2 Lose? Song: M.C.M. (Making Cash Money) Typed by: Tha Masta [Intro: Answering Machine Message] Recording: Tuesday, 12:48 PM Gil: Profes, it's Gil, holla back, peace... [sample] "Dollars taken in..." [Intro: Fes Taylor] Yeah let's get this money man (Alright) Let's get this paper and shit, you know? Alright... that's what it's about... (Are we out for this money?) Aiyo... aiyo... aiyo aiyo... [Fes Taylor] Bitch, I need a Tahoe, not a taco But gimme lot's of nachoes, cheese on top yo Bracelets and chains, so you know I'ma cop those Leave a nigga drippin' like a kid with a snotnose I ain't never wore Paco or Vosco But I had pairs of used jeans and lottos You get burnt, I could heat the mic with a hot flow Wait ya turn, reason why they hatin' - I got dough I ain't mad, son, I could relate, y'all dead broke I've been there, gettin' money, sellin' crackheads smoke You've spent too much time stressin' the next man Keep money in right, a gun in my left hand I hop out the Range like "God damn!" When he gon' stop, man? I own businesses plus I got land Winter time, bitches lookin' like "How he got a tan?" I was smokin' on Maui, chillin' on the Cali sand [D.C.] When the Mack pop you'd be hard to find like 'Pac Or crack rocks dropped in front of crackheads in crackspots And Cash hot, boil like the water in crackpots Or spoiled from these spoils that I saw through these back blocks And fiends that was loyal to crackspots Them leaned on my beeper the way my jeans leans on my sneakers The way my team lean on them heaters You would think they was crutches and crack, you would think niggaz was Dutches And clap niggaz just for thinkin' we frontin' What you thinkin' I'm bluffin'? I knock ya top off, I'm like the block wolf You be thinkin' of nothin' while I'm laid back drinkin' and puffin' I slap bitches you be thinkin' of cuffin' Cash trigger finger itchy as fuckin' I've be waitin' for a nigga to bluff him So I could toast every nook and cranny on his punk ass like an English muffin [La Banga] It's like, it's like... we ain't bluffin... so yo... We gotta take it to make it, niggaz want us to fail Separate us from the frail, same shit, different tale Motion picture shit, Black Star Power, we keep it real Gully in it's purest form, we form in the field Get it on at will, when carryin' vest, we carryin' steal A thug once told me, "A slug don't kill" Mind over matter will at the sight of their blood spill Intesity build, a lot fail in thier own inequity Slug humidity increase the body degree Had a lot of niggaz coppin' a plea like rich niggaz coppin' a ki' The things I'm tellin' you was shown to me Economical poetry, rap chemistry Creatin' miracles, right before the naked eye visual Like Christ in the days of biblical A simple touched healed the cripple [Carlton Fisk] Heal the cripple, nigga... Fuck y'all niggaz talkin' 'bout? Yo, let's get this money, just keep it real But y'all niggaz talkin' slick, let's beef for real You a faggot life nigga, you just caught a break I'm the robbery suspect known to tuck the eighth Pistol-whip you in ya face, make you crack ya safe Let you front all you want on CD's and mixtapes House gang mothafucka and we earned our name Gettin' close range on niggaz and, burn their frame Learn the game, double wagin' out of ya dame Gave her a gram, fair exchange, head in ya Range Curly-head nigga, Icebergs, sweats and a chain Beef and broccoli, three quarter, General's Daughter I'm out of order, my lifestyle's a crime reporter Not the actor but the auther, original clever terror Rock a black leather duckin' police, blast Berettas, nigga... [S.I.C.] Yo, yo... I rolls dolo from state to state, scrape plates Set up gates, holla "I know how to make a dollar circulate" How to get it, stretch it and flip it Bag it and pitch it, stash it and stack it, invest it in business Listen, if ya money is funny then get serious Nigga, we get bread like I don't know what year it is Push Caddy's greater than grand daddy's Everywhere I go all these chicks stare at me Like my bitches black as fuck, pussy hair nappy Content, but ain't nowhere near happy 'Til I'm where I wanna be, multi-billion dollar company I doubt y'all niggaz wanna see another me [L.I.S.] I'm in it to ben-e-fit the pock-ets I gotta cop a rocket, get my name known on some stock shit If I can't profit, might as well cock and pop it I need that cash, fuck that mothafuckin' pop shot I got no options, too many mouths to feed And a chunky-ass bitch that loves shoppin' sprees Got broads clockin' me for slingin' cock for fees I live in dicktropolis, playin' cocknopoly I dig cash in green houses and red buildings And everywhere that I go I'm never known as the villain Make a record, break a million, masturbations of the killin' You fakes get out my face, you disgracin' my children Bust shots and make you feel 'em, have you dancin' from the spirit Like tracks engineered by Stevie Wonder on some hear shit Don't compare us to the rarest of barbaric beat bastards I'm still a hatchet man and for that cash I'ma thrash ya [sample] "Don't you care to hear it... dollars, dollars, dollars..."