Bada Bing Lyrics

Family business?

Now you want to gun down a police captain, what, because he slapped you in the face a little bit

Huh?

What do you think this is, the army, where you shoot them a mile away

You gotta get up close like this, and BA DA BING!

You blow their brains all over your nice cyber league suit

Ooh, Sam, guilty

Yeah, money on go for real

Get up close and you getting smacked around. I done graduated, I ain't never need no cap and gown

Bitch, I'm Money and they know me, go ahead and ask around

They can't see me as a ghetto boy, cause I ain't tatted down

I'm the realest Guerro boy in this little fucking town

They don't like me cause I'm white, but I be really getting down

I got Fendi, on my buckle, and this Louis hold a pound

Yeah, this B.B. holds Swarovski, and the leather holds some rounds

Like a pitcher off the bump, I'm in a striker climbing mounds

Getting richer every time I'm in the mic, just making sounds

Fucking with the sukkas when you know I'm on the right side

Standing on my money, seven foot Hassan Whiteside

Connecting to these beats, they like to call me money wifi

Eight oh eights be hitting like a bunch of fucking high fives

You know my flow is hella smooth, like some Ben and Jerry's

Acting hella tough up on them tracks, we know you've been a fairy

I done dropped a hundred songs a year ago in February

Music been running up in the family, it's hereditary

When I pull up, I'm going to hit them with that bada bing

Fuck Balenciaga, baby, I've been on them Prada things

I'ma keep on running bags until lil Reesie proud of me

Neiman Marcus shopping spree, I walk out with a lot of things

Yes, my name is money, like I went and hit the lottery

And boy, you think you hot, I promise that you ain't as hot as me

Been fucking about some politics, like this is not democracy

They trying to tell me get a bag, I'm tired of this hypocrisy

Now I'm so cold, playing with your nose

You probably fucking up your mocos

Gotta keep a five up in my pocket like I'm Ocho

That And One jump short, switching to the Polos

I been rolling up that Za pack and this shit mystical

Talking about my pockets and my hands is getting physical

I gotta jump you in the trap, we trying to stay traditional

Finna snatch my chain, hit your brain, this shit critical

Gotta wear my Nikes, cause I'm always outside

And yes, I got some friends in the north and the south side

Better be about yours, cause yes, I'm really bout mine

Call me Deebo Samuel, hit the hole when I'm out wide

Brodie in my pocket, ask for money, trying to hold bands

Fuck that, go and get a job, you a grown man

Speaking on my name, after that, you a whole fan

Playing with your nose, changing name to the snowman

When I pull up, I'm gonna hit him with that bada bing

Fuck Balenciaga, baby, I been on them Prada things

I'ma keep on running bags until Lil Reesie proud of me

Neiman Marcus shopping spree, I walk out with a lot of things

Yeah, that's that money team shit, that's the trap

Shout out Defalt , go

Boom, yeah, yeah

We the go-getters

We the go-getters

You got no hitters out there

Catch up, bitch

I got a lot of bands

Y'all shot y'all