Ice Cube - Get Money, Spend Money, No Money

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 shit, oh what a feelin (ah) Niggaz think I'm drug dealin 'Cause I roll by with no motherfuckin 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 ass 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 bitches couldn't carry me [Chorus - Ice Cube - 2X] Get money, spend money, no money, lookin like a dummy (I really don't give a fuck) Your money ain't my fuckin 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 ass whoopin that your ass 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 embarrassed How long 'fore they callin us terrorists? Nigga, 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 motherfuckin elf And Santa Claus will go for self All you got is your balls and your health [Chorus - 2X] [Verse 3 - Ice Cube] Niggaz 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 nigga shut up (shut up) You always talkin about a fuckin car or truck You always talkin about some fuckin rims or interior That kind of shit'll keep our ass inferior I'm tryin to eat tomorrow Ain't tryin to hear about the little bitty shit you bought Saw your little bitty house on "Cribs" Where you fuck your wife and feed your kids (uh uh) Nigga be quiet, ain't shit private Everything for sale, you can buy it All this self snitchin, all this self tellin Motherfuckers goin back to the watermelon [Chorus - 4X]