Money Counter lyrics

[Intro]
b*tches mad 'cause they f*cked the gang and still ain't got no clout
She don't like my song because she think it's her I'm talkin' 'bout
n*ggas mad 'cause I ain't reply, f*ck what they talkin' 'bout
Usain Bolt, sprintin' to the bag, I'm tryna make it out

[Verse 1]
Human money counter, need my ends, could never short me
Poppin' sh*t, I been goin' up since a shorty (b*tch)
I been wearing Rick all week, these b*tches givin' Morty
I ain't like his tone of voice, so I slapped him with the 40
I'm a work in progress, I got Carhartt on my jeans
And I can't f*ck with b*tches 'cause they always spill the beans
I ain't f*ckin' on that n*gga, I'm not comin' out my pants
And he working for the pus*y, but he not gettin' a chance
I need access to your funds
I got on Chanel, she got on 1's
And I'll beat your ass, don't need no guns
And I leave his ass on seen because he only want the buns

[Chorus]
b*tches mad 'cause they f*cked the gang and still ain't got no clout
She don't like my song because she think it's her I'm talkin' 'bout
n*ggas mad 'cause I ain't reply, f*ck what they talkin' 'bout
Usain Bolt, sprintin' to the bag, I'm tryna make it out
[Verse 2]
All this sh*t is facts, it's off the dome, I put myself in Chrome
He blowin' up my phone, you mad at me, he won't leave me alone
Bottega on my feet, bracelet Elite, b*tches can't take the heat
They thought this sh*t was sweet, she made a tweet, I pulled up on her street

[Chorus]
b*tches mad 'cause they f*cked the gang and still ain't got no clout
She don't like my song because she think it's her I'm talkin' 'bout
n*ggas mad 'cause I ain't reply, f*ck what they talkin' 'bout
Usain Bolt, sprintin' to the bag, I'm tryna make it out

[Verse 3]
She don't get the reference, it flew right over her head
If you hear some sh*t 'bout me, come ask me what I said
I'm not tryna be outside, I'm just tryna get the bread
And I ain't tryna f*ck you, I will leave your sh*t on read
Anybody try me, I'm gon' put them in they place
Just ask **** how I punched her in the face (True story)
You spent all that on your frontal and I still can see the lace
And I'm smokin' on some gas that is louder than the bass

[Chorus]
b*tches mad 'cause they f*cked the gang and still ain't got no clout (b*tch)
She don't like my song because she think it's her I'm talkin' 'bout
n*ggas mad 'cause I ain't reply, f*ck what they talkin' 'bout
Usain Bolt, sprintin' to the bag, I'm tryna make it out (Bah)