Countin Money Lyrics - Trill O.g. - Bun B

[Intro] 

Fuck a rubber band a nigga need a buncha birds (X4) 

[Over intro - Gucci Mane (Yo Gotti)] 

Yo, it's Gucci, brrrr, R.I.P. Pimp C mane, brrrr 

(This that straight my, straight my) 

[Chorus] 

Money all day, count money all day 

Count money all day, count money all, money all 

Count money all day, count money all day, count money all 

Money all, money all, money all day 

Related 

Naughty & Nice Christmas Songs 

Watch Cardi B Joins James Corden For Carpool Karaoke 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

[Bun B - Verse 1] 

Say mane, no matta where I go, no matter what I do 

If chillin' wit' myself, or ballin' wit' my crew 

The skies is lookin' cloudy or Bahama water blue 

I got that money on my mind, so tell me what it do 

And if you be like me, then you already knew it 

We goin' for the money then we goin' right through it 

Take it to the table baby, chop it up and screw it 

'Cause it ain't nothin' to it where come from, but to do it 

We get it in our hands, and then it go right through the fingas 

We standin' on the system in a fresh set of swangas 

We pop a couple tags, put some fresh up on the hangas 

That everyday struggle and can't nair nigga change us 

Believe that I was famous 'fore I ever did a song 

Believe I had a poppin' 'fore a label put me on 

It's 2010 and I ain't seein' nothin' wrong 

But niggas countin' money all day fuckin' long 

Photos 

[Chorus] 

[Yo Gotti - Verse 2] 

Money totin', pistol carrying young nigga thugged out 

Very first song I ever dropped was in a drug house 

Razor blades, sandwich bags, Louis shoes, stoopid swag 

Rubber bands, duffle bags, small bills, trash bags 

Apple chain on my neck, you know that cost stoopid cash 

Maserati for the wash, that's that foolish cash 

Penitentiary chances, '6's on a muscle car 

Bun helped me keep it real and watch it take me far 

My money don't fold, this money here 

I ain't make it for no hoes, I ain't get this off of shows 

Count money all day, count money all night 

Trust no one wit' my paper, so I count my paper twice 

I been on wit' out my paper, so I sleep wit' it at night 

Now I wake up wit' to my paper so I start my day off right 

They call me Cocaine Gotti, and it's money over bitches 

Mr. Everything White, he be always in the kitchen 

[Chorus] 

[Gucci Mane - Verse 3] 

It's me Gucci 

I'm the shit bitch you smell me 

Ain't no need to check ya sneakers 

Three bricks, plus a split wit' me, then bitch you got a hit 

Big money on my leisure, pop bottles wit' top models 

Wit' my goons in Puerto Rico, yo' girlfriend I'ma freak her 

Believe me I'm a giant, leave it to the lemurs(?) 

I only see my paper plus my cojan on the Sanyo 

The hottest rapper that you know, people look like Cujo (Gucci) 

I get a thousand million ties and sold your guys for uno 

So tune into East Atlanta, please don't change the channel ma 

Roll the windows down back up 

In my Phantom show my automa 

Hangin' out my partner, naw 

Don't you want this autograph? 

Thinkin' that you angry 'cause my neck look like the Mardi Gras 

[Chorus]