kriss mag lyrics

[Chorus]
Real money makers, startin' to think that I'm the sh*t
I got real guns, you prolly think of empty clip, yeah
I can't even f*ck up with that hoe, she stay up on my di*k
I got like 40 f*ckin' shots, they click, up in my stick
Yeah, yeah, I love my f*ckin' b*tch
I love my f*ckin' blick, like, b*tch, that's all I f*ckin' need
I got fans around the state, like b*tch it's f*ckin' time, we neat
Say my f*ckin' name too much, got 30 [?] came with blick
Like can you stop, just, like, talkin' on me? Let me be

[Verse]
Ah, I ride with pole
Like please don't call my phone if it ain't bout that dough
Baby, I got money, I think we can roll
Baby, I got money, pockets arе tall