Brown Paper Bag Lyrics - Birdman

All brown paper bag (Uh-Oh) 

All brown paper bag (Uh-Oh) 

All brown all brown - Fi-Fi-Fill (Haha) it up wit' more 

All brown paper bag -Fill it up wit' ones (Like Father, Like Son biatch!) 

All brown paper bag - Fill it up wit' ones (Angel on the beat) 

Fill it - Fill it up wit' ones (I tell 'em I tell 'em) 

I got that paper bag full of paper 

Bag full of kush 

Big choppa I can hit you from a hundred foots 

Wha's happenin' Wardy? 

How you on it buddy? 

Dem b*****s checkin' for me 

Tell 'em I'm wit' Swizz Swizzy 

They call me Wizzy Fizzy 

Holla back right now I'm busy 

I am the president 

You jus' play your position 

And I hope that door don't hit ya 

Get up outta my office crawfish 

Don't let them sharkys get ya 

This beat's a car collision 

Check out my car collection 

Yea look at my rims hoe 

Mercades wit' them kidneys 

Naw that's a Benzo 

I don't pop them pills no 

But I pop them rubber bands 

Man I can get like fifty thousand in that brown bag 

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Yea, n***a 

Cook a whole, make it out a whole and a half b***h! 

Yea, Birdman in a Benz wit' the duffel stuffed 

Gotta chopper wit' a drum and one iced up 

Them people hot around my way but we don't give a f**k 

We on the grind for the shine tryna come up 

A black mack, black six, and a black Hummer 

Them thirteen hundreds fourteen hundreds 

We be gettin' money 

Drop it off, get to work n***a keep it runnin' 

Garbage bag full of cash n***a keep it comin' 

In my hood Red Phantom n***a we be stuntin' 

Got the block blocked off n***a we be hustlin' 

Brown duffel bag filled up wit' cash 

Sixteen years old wit' a brand new Jag b***h! 

Photos 

Get it up 

In the air 

Get it up 

In the air 

N-N-N-Now money cars clothes hoes 

All a n***a know so 

I'm from the ghetto so 

Gimmie my pesos 

All brown paper bag 

I could fill it up wit' ones 

N***a fill it up wit' ones 

Hey fill it up wit' ones?????? Dancer Dancer Dancer 

Hey hey stuff it in the thang dog 

Damn right I be poppin' my collar 

In a all black Impala 

Makin' fiends wanna holla 

Got the suade on my headrest 

Gold on my damn bracelet 

Hey triple gold n***a 

Sucka I ain't ridin' thin 

You want me come and get me 

I'm in 360 (Ferrari man) 

Ca$h Money's wit' me! 

Like father, like son (repeat to fade)