Tekst piosenki 'We Gettin' Money Ova Here Feat. 40 Cal.' wykonawcy Jr Writer

[hook:]
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?

We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?

[j.r. writer:]
That's word buzzen, i swerve cousin (errr!)
In that 2006 like it's worth nothing
Got these bird's bugging, i'm on 1st stunting
With no stick-shift just a reverse button (the aston martin)
But i ain't hollywood hater, i'm still serving them like a volleyball player
Spare 8 keys, the gear chase me
You need two? meet me in staircase b
I'm pitching em, you ain't never seen hard
You little creeps starved, you niggaz need jobs
I do this steam large, bottles after bottles...
Then dismiss the case like a judge on a weak charge
Peep .r....scrapper this shit is nothing
You actors are into cuffing, these scragglers are disgusting
Ask 'em all how i'm bubbling...
I spray more alcohol around then a barber after he finished cutting!

[hook:]
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?
We getting money over here....what it do pimpin?

[40 cal.:]
I...get money, get mooga
Get money, get mooga
Get money get money get mooga......40!
I...dress gully, vest with the fresh skully
Lex buggy, no cologne cause i'm smellin like fresh money
You better tell thunny you never will sell bunkies
You can't hold nothing but shells that dwell from me
Prolly go to jail, praying like help dummy
While i'm diddy bopping out, waving like jail funny
I get locked up by twelve, say around 12:20
Call me slater & screech, get saved by the bell money
Then i ice grill the judge cause it just felt gully
Leave an ape nigga bloody s'what i call a "red monkey"
Yeah....the champion cheering, man of the year when...
I go to the store copping what the mannequin wearing!
Serving grams to ya parents, i get the ounce flippin
I admit....i'm the reason the shit in ya house missing!
I'm in ya spouse kitchen, making other figures
With dick in her mouth like killa, "i'm getting money niggaaaaa!"

[hook x2]

[j.r. writer:]
Ya shines are simple, mine's offend you
(heh!)
Yours "bling bling"....my shit dingles! (ding!)
You don't know the grind i'm into, check the rose i floss
Yeah i put 'em on but the shit's keep going off
I'm glistening gold, wrissery froze
Boogers all in my ring and i ain't digging my nose
Too much digits to fold, what i'm spending is old
But i still will mack a chick and tell a pigeon like "yo!"
....we getting money over here!
Fix ya face ho, why? cause i say so
What part don't you understand? i'm getting peso's
They know not to stunt on me with some liquor
I'll buy out the bar just for me and my niggaz
Nobody drinks, look fam that's the crew
I'll have the whole club sipping cranberry juice (sober lmaoo)
You hungry in the rear, my money in the air
I don't know what y'all doing over there, but look......we getting money over here!