Paper

[Intro: E-92] Yo, this is E92 on the fucking track Repping the Five Saints clique We making mad fucking paper [Hook: The Etherealist] I get so much paper; my haters, see you later [x8] [Verse 1: The Etherealist] (Yeah, yo it's your boy The Etherealist) (Mother-fucking Oz Mosis, the Madkilla up in here) (Yo, we making mad stacks like we Jordan fucking Belfort, what you know about that shit?) In the club, feeling nice and I got so much ice Bitches diving for me like a floatation device Gold ring on my right and titties on my left Last pussy tried test this, lost his mother-fucking head Bitch, I get so much paper; my haters, see you later Porn-star on my penis while I'm huffing on that vapour Snorting all the yayo, this my fucking year Twenty-three bitches in my whip; mother-fuckers ain't got nothing on me so they better clear Yeah, watch your girlfriend drop it low in the back of my mother-fucking car Got a bitch on my lap and a bitch on my dick; triple digits ain't gonna get far Single digits neither: ride with Ether, ten's what you are 'Less you got triple X-Y titties, bitch, I am a rock-star Bitch, get in my damn car; we can ride through the city Then I'll put your ass to sleep after sucking on your titty (No, not cause I'm... just cause she's tired) (Because I'm rich, doesn't mean I'm gonna rape everything) [Hook] [Verse 2: E-92] (We rocking ninety-inch rims on our fucking Caddies) (Mother-fucker, I got thirty hoes in my fucking Limo) (Mother-fucker, each of my house rocking a fucking twenty carat grill) I got so much paper, them girls don't have to pay Doing pretty well, tripping MDMA Gather in the club, all those honeys drift on by But I don't give a fuck cause I'm still looking fly Shit-fucker, I don't know where my head's spinning now All I see is niggas; they be surfing in the crowd [Mid-verse skit] My haters, see you later: I'm fucking to LA But shut your fucking mouth, honey, you don't get a say Stepping in the club, I'm looking fucking swag But bitch comes up to me and she's dancing like a slag Homies in the crowd also liking what they see But let's be god-damn real; I like it more than titty Quicket wants my paper, but if he even gets close I'mma cut him down like a mother-fucking roast Don't get up in my shit, son; this is fucking mad Over to my boy Etherealist; he's up and fucking rad [Hook] [Verse 3: DJ Quicket Bat] [Freestyle] (Paper aeroplanes. Fly like cash and gold) (Oh yeah, paper travelling places gets you there) Financially secure, you never touch this whore That I got, that I paid so much money for Oh yeah, all my greens, look at my greens All they [incomprehensible] Not much like weed, but maybe if you want it to be Oh shit, look at that: I just got weed from right out of my hand Because I got so much money in my pocket Throwing it at... fucking prostitutes They all, they love it. Oh, it's so much money They can't even fit it down their bras Cause it's just all over the place, yeah Money, money, money. Oh, he's got Oh, is it Benjamin Franklin? I don't even know cause I don't even care Cause it's just so much money right coming out of my hair right now It's like spaghetti; it's just all over everywhere Just fell out my pockets and like, oh, it's on my feet now Oh, [incomprehensible] got money on the floor Oh, he's loving it Oh, fucking Hell (Money, money, money. It's so funny) [Outro: The Etherealist] And there you have it. There it is Five Saints and E-92, mother-fucker We ain't even on this rap shit; we on this 'making paper' shit Bitch, I got more in my fucking pocket than you got in your year's salary Bitch, I wipe my fucking ass with your year's salary I got a gold chain for every mother-fucker in my phone book I got so much paper cause I don't even pay taxes Leave out that last bit