Title: "Here Comes the Money" Composer: Jim Johnston Album: WWE: Anthology - Now!, Vol. 3 Duration: 2:51
Here comes the money, here we go, money Here comes the money Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money.
Dolla dolla, dolla dolla
Ching ching, bling bling, cut the chatter If you ain’t talkin’ money then your talking don’t matter Ching ching, bling bling, pattin’ pockets You take the dolla dolla, can’t a damn soul stop it
Shockin’, here comes the new kid on the block, hold all your bets, Here’s where the buck stops. See, first of all I’m steppin’ out on my own. ‘Bout time I elevated to claim my own throne. Success in my blood, call it homegrown. Pores reeking testosterone. Power and money got me crazy cocky, no longer need you Poppy. I know your mad at me, cause you can’t stop me. And if you wonder how this player done scooped your honey, I think she smelled my cologne, it’s called ‘Brand New Money’. Making major moves, man...ain’t a damn thing funny. Pimpin’ hood rats to Playboy Bunnies, they see the...
Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money. Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money.
I glow with dollar dollar, and roll about fifty, Like to go wild smelling fresh and looking spiffy Don’t like clean money, I want my wrist to be filthy Plus with a retirement fund I can’t touch till I’m sixty So what am I supposed to do, rollin’ through, Steady padding in the pocket, sounds like a hole in two Ching ching, bling bling, catching cash in lumps, It’s a cold world, get a jacket, I’m selling ‘em out my trunk. Whenever whatever it takes to shake down a dollar More dough in that direction, wait a minute, holler holler. All wants to know where they go, where they went In a mink and march on money, smellin’ just like a mint.
Now if you can’t see the money, get your eyes cleaned with Visine I need fine things with seven digits at a time team. My cheerin’ chillin, the best, never worse, see we never get the pebbles... They’ve got the rocks first. Bank vaults are locking, ching ching we’re mocking’ I’m rocking’, my family’s Christmas stockings are shocking. Fine women, any weather, naughty denim and leather Call it tricking’ or whatever, son they get better. I’m one smart cookie, the vet that smash rookies. My stocks on top, your checks bounce while mine boogie. Wrist, we rock it, chicks stop it or knock it Cash looks like I got a gang of fists in my pockets.
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