Pour It Up (Remix) (feat. Young Jeezy / Rick Ross / Juicy J / T.I.)

Say, Rih-Rih, let’s take this sh*t to the street one-time, you know?

Throwing hundreds like loose change (still got my money)

Got your broad in that Mulsanne (that Bentley, homie)

Seats whiter than cocaine (that 40 on me)

Got me and Chi-Chi, bring broads, mane

She like my homie

I’m King Tut with my gold chain

My partner with me, he the dope mane

Straight gassed, n***a, that BP

On that E40, that OG

These bitch n***as be acting up

These hoe n***as be acting foul

They’ll grind with you, they’ll shine with you

Be pointing fingers off at your trial

My Rolls Royce with my driver in it

Getting f*cked up ‘cause I ain’t got to drive

Got Kendrick on them bottles

Came and poured a swimming pool and we about to dive

Got one room, got three b*tches

And you’re damn right that’s where they’re supposed to be

Two glock 40s at all times

I’ll shoot back if n***as shoot at me, you know it

Ohhh…

All I see is signs

All I see is dollar signs

Ohhh…

Money on my mind

Money, money on my mind

Throw it, throw it up

Watch it fall out from the sky

Throw it up, throw it up

Watch it all fall out

Pour it up, pour it up

That’s how we ball out

Throw it up, throw it up

Watch it all fall out

Pour it up, pour it up

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

My foreign cars – domestic beefs

Peter Luger’s – the better seats

Dollar after dollar – bottle after bottle

Late for you haters even though my plane charter

Suede Bally shoes, true rude boy

Ferrari 400 horses, we do it for cool points

Baby, do the math – I’m copping Chanel bags

Talking Bell Harbour cigars for her mans

Know we run the streets, eating cold bully beef

Now we at the Grammys, Tom Ford to my feet

Boss on the avey, Rihanna screensaver

Whenever you see the fat boy, you know it mean paper

Juicy J pouring up codeine – Benz all white, no chlorine

Bad chick with me got as and titties

Freaky b*tch gon’ f*ck the whole team

Ziplock bag full of OG – I go in like a door key

Your girlfriend on both knees, she catch more balls than a goalie

Purple all in my sprite, I’m high as Denzel on Flight

Scared of money, don’t make no money

You n***as shaky like dice

I’m in the bed with your wife

We popping pills, we going hard

When she with you she a church girl

When she with me she a pornstar

Smoking on doobies like cigarettes

Which one of these strippers give head the best?

P*ssy so good that I think I’m in love

What am I saying? It must be the drugs

Pour it up, pop that ass out, make it rain, h*e

I’ll make it flood, shorty, you might need a raincoat

Strip clubs and dollar bills

Still got more money

Patron shots, can I get a refill?

I still got more money

Strippers goin’ up and down that pole

And I still got my money

Four o’clock and we ain’t going home

Still got more money

Money make the world go around

I still got my money

Bands make your girl go down

Still got more money

Lot more where that came from

Still got more money

The look in your eyes, I you know you want some

Still got more money

Pour it up, pour it up

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

That’s how we ball out

I catch a case and I go to jail (still got more money)

I came home and went back over there (still got more money)

I’m multiplying everything I spend (still got more money)

These trap n***as I represent (still got more money)

It’s Hustle Gang and we popping

Got big bank rolls in our pockets

Hopping out a foreign vehicle

Throwing forty Gs, ain’t no issue, b*tch, b*tch!

I’m thorough as it get, official, b*tch, b*tch!

Better watch your p*ssy popping

I might wanna come and get you, b*tch

Now everywhere you may see me

Surrounded by bad b*tches like Rih-Rih

Got them booty shots, look like Nicki

Face and toes pretty, I’m picky

See these trap n****s, they on to me

And these rap n****s up under me

Ain’t nothin’ for me to get a hundred keys

And then stimulate the economy, like…