| Yeah they know what time it is. | 
| Russel Lee in here with Happy P. | 
| Paul Wall and Chamillionaire. | 
| Man, it’s going down. | 
| Ay, it look like a G in the knot but, it’s not, it’s three | 
| Time is money, you don’t wanna chase the clock with me | 
| I squat in the drop, not a dirty spot to see | 
| Stand on top of my dough in the desert, and spot the sea | 
| My money’s tall, I been born to stack chips | 
| Ignore my taxes, frame on the lack list | 
| Hop on the mattress to get pornographic | 
| Make a move on the chick, and move on to that sis | 
| Hits, Chamillionaire he raps | 
| So she lifts up the shirt show the bra with two straps | 
| But how ironic is that, cause the boy can do that | 
| I lift up my shirt, so the boy got two straps | 
| Gotta strap up, I gotta be safe sexin | 
| So I strap up, I gotta keep a weapon | 
| It’s Koopa protectin my health cause so many girls call me boo | 
| Im scared of myself, haha | 
| But they lucky, get the chedder and buck | 
| Cause me and Lucky we both be tryin a get in a vault | 
| Make bronze money turn greener than the incredible hulk | 
| But I’m pain in full, vato what you thought… Koopa | 
| Believe that, money ain’t nothin. | 
| Specially you bout yo business. | 
| Ay, Russ let em' know how these playas roll. | 
| I come here to let you know, just how us playas roll | 
| These boys betta pay what they owe, cause I gotta keep my money long | 
| Gotta keep on hustling, can’t keep on struggeling | 
| My life, my feddi, my niggas, my family and thats all I know | 
| Who make yo head bob like Marley and stay Brown like Charlie | 
| Money to throw away with more green than Tommy | 
| And I’m still on my toes, I got paper to wash | 
| I keep girls every where from L.A. to the Bronx | 
| I got em passing out flyers, cause you know I’m no dummy | 
| I don’t play football but you feel my homecoming | 
| Im throwed, call me Jimmy «Superfly» Snuka | 
| Its funny my trunk keep doin the hooka hooka | 
| Labels keep callin cause they like my style | 
| Im so fly, I gotta a million frequent flyer miles | 
| I want her and her friend, cause I heard they dike | 
| Im at the bar with Paul, and play thursday night | 
| Chain glowing like a Darth Vader sword | 
| Full of that high grade bombay de’jour | 
| Im just a playamade mexican and my pants stay starched | 
| Traded in the Bently, for a black made bomb | 
| Im all about stackin green | 
| Im tryin a get whats in your wallet and the back of them jeans | 
| But theres more to life than, just facts and lean | 
| Lil momma’s know I’m the mack of the team | 
| Gotta, fly honey dip on my siiide | 
| Pimp juice drippin up off my striiide | 
| Big swanges and vogues on my riiide | 
| And a college education on my smiiile | 
| There ain’t nothin new under the sun | 
| Im getting my paper, this ain’t just for fun | 
| I been on the grind since I was one | 
| I was in day care, hustlin gum | 
| So, I’m splurgin half my leisure | 
| I got mo' ice than yo grocers freezer | 
| And the rims keep getting steeper | 
| Till' I’m old geezer, dodging the grim reaper |