C-Tizzy ft. Pats Lyrics

The G-O-D, that's broadly what they call me

Come poli' with the Godly

Putting all fleets in the hot seat

Then the broccolis on the boss feet

Only top fleet when I drop these

Embody moxie of Mahatma Gandhi, properly jot heat

It's been rocky with the small city blues

In solid pursuit of monopolies, loot, getting it stocked, we

Get to dropping these tunes and bombing these crews

Then honestly, soon we get to seeing all MCs copy

But my Odyssey's splendid, flaming who block me

From a dollar tree endless, making moves suavy

Want to Versace these lenses, lace the blue Wallys

Far as Taraji P. Hensons, slayed a few probably

Autopsies, just go see I RIP your whole team

When harmonies will scold beats, in varsities they clothe me

I get loaves when the scene's indeed conquered

Don't give a bitch dough but she leave with cream on her

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal

Ctown profound, the word it gets around

That Kyd and Pats back on the mound

Yeah, we see ya frown

Haters fucking drown

Heavy is the head that wear the crown and I'm sinking

Gave up on rap, what the fuck was I thinking?

But now I'm back and this feeling is forever

I thank you all for being on this musical endeavour

Now listen to me flow, as I float like a feather

On this beat you know my cypher complete

Alive in the streets, nobody hold it down like me

Kick a funky rhythm in my sleep

I do this out of love not a secret I would keep

When you find that little passion inside of you

Don't let that beat skip

Guaranteed to feel sick

Never let it slip, hold the grip cus life's a trip

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal

You see bro you see the most panache

The most regal of chaps, cerebral's intact

The Leo DiCaprio of rap

Freak hoes keep those lips on meat closed to splash

A skeet load if she go deep throat the mack

Peep steelo in sheep coats they bespoke to flash

They'll cede thrones on each coast in fact

Even my b-rolls will steamroll your ass

No cap, I'm still the one repping

The illest professing the skills on a record

Krills when I'm wrecking, bitch

Fulfilling objectives, peeling the lettuce

Scrill in possession, the realest in essence

Revealing the epic shit

The attack of the maniac masterminds

Lay them flat fast when the K and that Pats combine

To climb, we got stamped plans to build

No damn chance you're ill, we'll Van Damme your grill, for real

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal

Make money money, make money money

Make money money, make money money

Got to make that money now

Got to stack that money pal