Fes Taylor - M.C.M. (Making Cash Money) Lyrics

[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'm a 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 f*ckin'
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...
F*ck 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 mothaf*cka 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 f*ck, 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, f*ck that mothaf*ckin' 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'm a thrash ya

[Sample:]
"Don't you care to hear it... dollars, dollars, dollars... "