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Lyrics of Long Money by Gucci Mane
Jacuzzi on the roof
Ugly hoes don′t get the time of day
Chiefing on sativa
Smell the reefer from a mile away
Pistol in my coupe
Try my troops
You'll get blown away
Gucci Mane got long money
Bitch that′s all I got to say
Gucci mane got long money
That's what them bitches say
Gucci mane got long money
That's what them bitches say
Gucci mane got long money
That′s what them bitches say
I ain′t even gotta talk
My money conversate
We been stunting
Got a money tree
I drown the bitch with money
Ferrari with
Them bumble-bee
Forgiato sitting up under it
("How many carats in that bracelet baby?")
I think about 200
Plus I hit the club with 50k
Let's keep this shit 100
Got a couple houses
Ghetto spouses
In my penthouse
Smoking ounces
Came up selling ki′s and ounces
Half a pound
White, Gold, and Brown
My pants sag
Grams wear 'em down
These kats are trying to go downtown
Just to walk around and window shop
I shut them all down everytime
Everytime that I hit the scene
Fresher than I wanna be
Cover of the magazine
Back of the limousine
Stacks in my denim jeans
Hoes gone remember me
458 ship to me from Italy
612 sitting outside the facilities
911 Gucci ice game killing me
Came a long way from drug dealing
Waking up rich is a great feeling
Couple million stashed for my grandchildren
Just hand counted me a coupe half million
Up on ′em
Pull up on 'em
Like a bird drop low
And shit on ′em
Piss on 'em
Spit on 'em
Tell them haters Gucci got rich on ′em
It′s GUCCI!!
Every city
I make magic
I make money disappear
Cause they attracted me
How clear these diamonds
Blinging in my ear
So many wanna marry me
I'm married to the game
Cocaine put me in position
Swagger brought me all the fame
I need accountants to help me count it
Rolls-Royce I mount it
Corvette painted candy
Drop the top
And bitches crowd it
Houses in Zone 6
All my niggas hustlers
And robbers
Don′t fuck with us
You'd be better off
Fucking off with Angel Dust
I′m racked up
Like a pool table
Stay draped up
And Purple Label
Drank purple drank
Smoke purple weed
Got a purple car
And long paper
Every day thank the Lord that I wake
Every day living like my last day
Shine so bright rock stupid ice
More carats in my chain than a carrot cake
Money short
He running out
I'm bussin′ out
Can't close the vault
Ain't my fault
It′s yo fault
Nobody stays here
This my money′s house
Stash house
Stocked up
Try to fuck shit
Get chopped up
I'm rocked up
Stay blocked up
I ain′t locked up
But I'm guaped up
It′s GUCCI!!!
Writer(s): George Conaway
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Mr. Zone 6
Album • 2010 • 16 tracks
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