Dirty Money

Dirty money It’s dirty, filthy Special Teamz, Ill Bill Duck down, follow along [Verse One: Jaysaun] It all started in the Franklin mint And the ink they used to print us had a light green tint Bagged us up, stuck in a truck from Wells Fargo Hell’s cargo shipped to a bank in Key Largo Where all of my brothers with similar serial numbers Intense scrutiny, security printed asunder I wonder would they fold me? Fill me with drugs? Will I be given to a priest as a donation from thugs? Listen close, you don’t need to be a scholar to follow To scan this trail traveled by the US dollar If you hear me better holla instead of popping your collar A lot of us stacked together like cheese in an enchilada Used for change in the champagne room Holding some ‘caine, exchanged for pussy and brain Withdrawn around dawn by a strip club owner named Vaughan From Coconut Grove with a manicured lawn [Hook: Ill Bill] The name’s Bill but you can call me dirty money People lie, cheat, steal and murder for me I’m God, no religion in the world’s above me Let’s fight in the water holes, even Curtis love me Make deals, hustle hard, you’ll be earning lovely Whips and cribs is pimped out, the burn is comfy Coke dealers, world leaders, yo we serve the country Don’t sleep though eventually things turn ugly [Verse Two: Slaine] I got the face of a slave owner, cloned wrapped in a stack The United States of America tats on my back Saying God we trust, my abomination is as strong as Satan’s The bigger the combinations of my denominations The thicker the plot, I’ve been passed for liquor and pot Bitches who’re tricking for a dick in the twat Coming up, they murder for me when the pistols were shot I built the weapons that destroy countries, my missiles are dropped I travelled the earth for seventeen years and never been clean My face creased to hell, bought dope for heroin fiends I’ve been rolled and put in a nose with Hep C In strip clubs they throw me at hoes and sex scenes Shoved in her asshole, before I’m hanging out I got it Yeah I’m caught up in a vicious cycle everyone’s a part of Touched by millions of hands, blood, pussy, and drugs From cops and lawyers to judges, addicts, hookers, and thugs [Hook] [Verse Three: Edo G] Aerial thunder, my worth is in my serial number I’m worse when they fill me with hunger Material wonder, fresh out of the Bank of America So I wind up in the coach bag of Erica And I travelled in her pocketbook Trying not to look, touched by eight hands like an octopus New money, pre-fab, her parents put her ass in rehab She passed me for an E tab To a nigga who’s pretending funny He wasn’t making, he’s just spending money Don’t defend the dummy Now that nigga got me wrapped in a rubber band Put me on a chain, gold and diamonds from the motherland I’m in the other hand of another man of a jewelry store Never truly been poor and I’m the reason for high crime Money can buy you a clock but it can’t buy you time