Calling - GRM Daily, CHIP, Kojo Funds

Yo, yo, yo, yo

Ayy, yo

Ayy, yo

That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo

The haters onto me, ayy, yo

But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo

I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo

I’m so fly like Wayne Carter

Tell dem boy dere I’m their farda

Your boy clipping your baby mudda

That one’s a say nada, we got the gully Gaza

I tell them man park up

Don’t stall, the ting will spark up

Yo, I’ve got the .38 tucked

Don’t move or the ting will bust yeah, yeah

'Cause ayy, they don’t wanna play no games

Rolling with the .38, them niggas won’t come my way

Ayy, they don’t wanna play no games

Rolling with the .38, them niggas won’t come my way

That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo

The haters onto me, ayy, yo

But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo

I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo

Chippy, yo, got the weed and blem

Judge, I’ve got me, I don’t need no leng

Get real money, that’s G-R-M

Redline true spitters from I dislike them

All fake friends fi get bun

See you flex online and wan' come

If they don’t support when you’re grinding

Don’t ever let 'em 'round when you shining

Red leather seat, but mi gone again

Get pussy automatic, girl not stall again

See, my life, might book a flight last night

By morn, money call so mi gone again, see

Too much sauce for dem

Just a pree, dem a pree, me nuh know wamp to dem

Chippy on a verse, too cold like (brr)

But (brr), that’s the money call again, see

That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo

The haters onto me, ayy, yo

But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo

I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo

Like oh wow

Man I’m smoking this green, it’s so loud

And the damn packs are sold out

How you, running these streets with no clout?

Yo

Like oh my

Man, it’s Kojo Funds from the East side

Two loaded waps when we ride

Man, I’m high in the sky, I’m so fly like a kite

My heart’s cold, it’s blatant

Grew up in these streets, these pavements

I’m still running from Satan

But these boys still act the same

It’s blatant

Grew up in these streets, these pavements

I’m still running from Satan

But these boys still act the same

That’s the money calling me, ayy, yo

The haters onto me, ayy, yo

But I’ll bet the drum go off, ayy, yo

I know them boy dem soft, ay, yo

Ayy, yo

Ayy, yo

Ayy, yo

Ayy, yo