Birdman & Lil Wayne – Get That Money Lyrics

Get That Money

Birdman & Lil Wayne

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"Get That Money." - Birdman & Lil Wayne

Sunday, 25 October 2026, 07:40 am

Album: Like Father, Like Son (Deluxe Edition)

Track No: 15

Yeah, you already know what to do, ****?
There's money over here, cash money over here, ****
Yeah, me and the lil' JR, like that, homebody
We on the grind, ****, and this a most a **** shine, ****, shit
Like father, like son, ****
And we drive shit with headlights like a light bulb
That mean the car expensive, you stupid fuck
Keep a **** pimping out, ****
I know some **** that'll murk you for a quarter birdie
You bitch ass **** just be lucky that the boy ain't hurting
I got the money to lag and I got that swagger working
I'm smoking something I can't pronounce
Behind them Phantom curtains
What is you hiding, bitch? I'm on some gangster shit
She wanna make me dinner, I tell her, make me rich
You fucking with a winner, but I come from the litter
Ho, but bet I can take that dirt and turn that shit to glitter
I leave the work with her, yeah, she my babysitter
And if I find out she stealing, for real-a, I'ma kill her
I'm just a money man, so where the dollars at?
Sorry mama, Birdy beat that until them flowers black
She wanna ride on this, I make her ride with that
Her pistol in the ceiling, that's her survival pack
And do I love her? No, man I just love her spirit
Blind, deaf, or crazy, it's money over bitches
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?
It's raining, homie, you're dead
So get your game up
Take a bitch, break a bitch
Strap her down with work and tell her, don't trip, take a trip
Get your hustle up, the money's what you make of it
These **** want it cooked and I done closed down the bakery
So stop stunting, homie, false promoting
It ain't about what you're making, it's all about what you're toting
Burn him up and leave him naked, bring him back to his wife
The bitch ain't even cry 'cause he was living that life
These **** think I'm slipping 'cause I'm falling back
Bitch, I got money in the walls for that
Youngin' get it from the ground, homie, hold the hood down
And don't make a sound if them people swing around this bitch
Do your thing, whoa, hustle, try to stay low
This is for my old school G's who ain't around this bitch
But shawty, they ain't fucking with pops
Let them **** chase that pussy, we gon' follow that guap, yeah
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?
Fifty stacks in the garden in the backyard
Money talking, turn a key into a crack charge
Y'all **** ain't eating how we eating, B
Fuck how we used to be, now we how we need to be
If they ain't with us, they must be against us
We shoot 'em in the head 'cause they act like they senseless
If you ain't getting bread, ****, keep yo distance
We sharks over here, ****, keep on fishing
Okay, money, money, money is my intuition
Money over bitches, such an easy decision
Young money, money men, monster militia
Hard body, these **** boxes of tissue
That Nina will kiss ya, that chopper will twist you
Them three-eighty snapshots, now smile for the pictures
Weezy motherfucking baby, pay me
A nine to five is overrated, I'm on the grind, ho
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?
Now everybody that I know get that money, baby
And we ain't worrying 'bout them hoes, get that money, baby
You get that cook or that blow, you done called a baller
If you ain't talking 'bout that dough, homie, what you talking?

Writer(s): D. Carter & T-Mix.

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