Making G's - Fat Trel

I’m all about my bacon-cheese, I told that money, «wait for me.»

Foolin out from A-Z, so basically don’t play with me

Smoke a bowl, cookin coke, fuckin hoes in vacancy

Stash house from Cali to Raleigh belong to Crazy G

Good police and fake police, you hate police, I pay police

Either or I even score, I bring in more you pay for lease

They compare my weed stinks to deceased arm pits

Fire arms, muscle up, south beach, I fucked it up

Hotel erotica, VH1 exotica

Rental yacht, Key West, call that pussy Nautica

Man, I swear all I got is a Goddess

Stop to acknowledge her

Pradas on my property, lotta cheese and broccoli

Fake tits, fake lips, I just call her counterfeit

Put her down, pick her up, it’s back to who I found her with

Haitian leaves, wrapping Jamaican trees

Haters prey on me cause I be makin G’s

Nigga we be…

Makin G’s, ma-makin g’s, makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s,

half a million dollars, half a million dollars, half a million dollars on my

lap, on my lap

All this money got me rollin with them fly bitches

Do or die bitches, them ain’t yours, you a liar, them is my bitches

I got a white bitch, I got a dyke bitch

I got a love to shoot dice, love to fight bitch

I got a love to mix the lean with the sprite bitch

Sorry baby, I can’t make it, got another flight bitch

But you know what?

But you know what?

Man all them bitches…

Makin G’s, ma-makin g’s, makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s,

half a million dollars, half a million dollars, half a million dollars on my

lap, on my lap

I feel like Lil' Fat, how I count my money backwards

A savage in the trap, bumpin Webbie while we wrap up

Rubber bands, duffle bags, prada, gucci, louie rags

Whole lotta fire arms, lights off, laser tag

Half a million dollars on my lap, what the fuck is that?

Call that pack, that Pheonix Jones, I open up, it’s running back

No bitches don’t work for me, my niggas where that money at

My momma know she birthed a G, her son be worth 100 racks

Money money money, and all I know is money homie

Go and get some choppas maybe you can take it from me homie

Me and Badass, smokin loud all wild

Keep some ecstasy and liquor lean, couldn’t slow me down

Bitches used to walk past, but them hoes know me now

Got them bitches pumpin pounds, till the shop close down

Flight to Louisiana, my niggas with country grammar

But don’t ever get it twisted, they poppin tags and hammers

Makin G’s, ma-makin g’s, makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s, ma-makin g’s,

half a million dollars, half a million dollars, half a million dollars on my

lap, on my lap