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Artist: M.M.O.
Album:  All About the Money
Song:   All About the Money
Typed by: Cno Evil

It's like a million and one ways to make a block hot
Convertible drop top, I'm chillin, sipping Henny rock
Play the block, cook that ready rock, when M.M.O. pop
This dough don't stop, catch me at your nearest chop shop
Unorthodox, pop locks, this life don't stop
I leave you shot where the fishes rot, keeping it funky
For ya niggas rhyme, king size and throat die
We pass locks, counter clockwise, my nigga Hass go to Italy
For your guys, son, we too fly
Thugging it, to the highest extent
Loving this fashion, we throb like some mad men
And ghetto action, it's nectar, got me bugging, gunning for cheddar
It's Naisha, quick to split ya, blood on the stretcher
And bang you from your neck up, you cats ain't tough
Killa, paraphanelias, overnight base seller
To bake cheddar, seeing light straight outta dark cellar
You fucking wit the latest, new line famous
The cinema, black dillinger, nation of emperor
Bust a calico, straight off the bannister, white Acura
Feel the moist in this, rock fly oysters
Pop oh, my click colossal, lock and unload
Team got dough, but seem humble, and over crumble
And toke the black double double, no time for rumbles
It's here that niggas feel that make your livings crumble
The critical get smacked pitiful, talking political
Eighteen hundred Tequila, dog, and better than
My mic cord and move like some missiles in war
Bossolino style, hats off, we bloody type, get our mack on
And touch my hoe with all the thousands and poor

[Chorus: male singer]
It's all about the money, all about the currency
Taking what you have, to get to where I wanna be

[Pearl Handles]
Lounge in the lobby, me and dunn sipping Dom P
Reminiscing when we was getting mad cheese in C.G.
Now watch me, terrorize the industry, screw villains
Mindstate, visions over a million
Making a killing like a block, uncut rocks
Potent products, so we can stay on top
Never get knocked, my spot's like plots on pot locks
Worldwide receive, bloody money eater
Legal life achiever, brought the street thugs wit me
Spread the luxury, it's not a fantasy, it's reality
You live it up, thug passion, car crashing
Street fashions, out classing what you flashing
Massive actions, glow wise and an attraction
Light constractions, hot slugs steadily blasting
Niggas is wet, laying in blood, all through the surface
Plotting to hurt this, now your people's at another service

It was mid December, that was all I remember
On the money agenda, caught a flight to Virginia
Transact stage, slay, slid to the Batcave
They was in the limo, we was in the Montaro
DeNiro's, with calicos under the clothes
Metal chestplates, stop shit bigger than your thirty eight
Stay awake, son, that leak have you falling asleep
Don dozing, in the morgue with a tag, all frozen
We travel long distance, representing with the glisten
Non fiction, my team's real, we on a mission
Play that role pronto, get filled full of holes
Sincerely yours, M.M.O., love the luciano


[Itchy Fingas Sha]
Aiyo, I spit range, a lyrical titanium steel
We calculate then evaporate you on the battlefield
We spiderweb like eight legs, yo, blood shot, we dose to the head
Let's get this cheddar instead to meet with the bread
Then start blazing at this nigga, razors at, inrational
M.M.O. tackable, like an NFL youth
With no equipment on, quarterback sack, a sneaky lineback
Can tear ya whole frontline, before halftime
Can flatline ya post line, with your wack ass punch line
You touch mine, I separate your back from your spine
Remember the time like Jackson, then beat it like a gun wit no firing pin
Tell the judge, you saw it again, thought I lost ya
I push the Rover over Canadian borders
Holding the soldiers life, before I shot him straight off his motorcycle
Damn bean, turn this money clean in investments schemes
Watch kid get cold, reaction to polo, double expos
Ya'll bitches still blowing my nose, cleaning my toes
Trying to fit in shoes you can't even use
You too small, physically, cuz mentally, I rip you all
Leave you painted on walls, wit cars that ain't yours
Before I close ya house, from a penthouse to ya friend's house
Wit big bottles of Mo', to St. Ide's and Old Golde, what

[Chorus 2X]