Released: December 6, 2005
Songwriter: L.V.M. DJ Nasty The Runners Lil Wayne
Producer: DJ Nasty & LVM The Runners
[Intro]
Yeah
Money on my mind, money on my mind (Yeah)
Money on my mind, money—money on my mind (Yeah)
Money on my mind, money on my mind (That's right)
Money—money on my mind
So money is all I think of (That's right)
Money on my mind, money on my mind (Bitch)
Money on my mind, m—m—m—money on my mind (You know)
M—m—m—money on my mind (Bitch)
Money—money on my mind (Bitch)
Money—money on my mind
So money is all I think of (Ayy)
Yeah
[Verse 1]
Stepping out the motherfuckin' car, they in awe (Yeah)
I'm looking like a star, bitch, when you see me, make a wish
Holler at your motherfuckin' boy, JR (Brr)
Birdman my pa, bitch, ball bred, born rich (Yeah)
Dear Mr. Toilet, I'm the shit
Got these other haters pissed 'cause my toilet paper thick
I know
But trip and that 40 make a chip out a potato-head wimp
Then like ranch, I dip (Gone)
And the hustle is all muscle, just strength
When it comes to that weight, I don't struggle, I just lift (One, two)
I got my hand on the game, yeah, I make a grip (Yeah)
Hundred grand in my fist, same on my wrist
Get key money from a quarter, blame it on my wrist (Haha)
I whip coke like hoes, nigga, I'm a pimp (Yeah)
Lil nigga 'bout to rape the market
If we talking 'bout money, baby, now we talkin'
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches (Yeah)
Get money, get money, get money (Bitch), yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
[Verse 2]
Yeah
Nigga get it in a slumber if you know how (Uh)
In the heart of the summer, we need a snowplow
What you know 'bout that? Baby, it's your time
Coke transactions on the phone, we call it blowjobs (Yeah)
Too fast for the feds, too cocky for the cops
Had to ditch my old bitch, gettin' sloppy with the pots (Bitch)
Hoppin' off the boat, meetin' papi at the docks (What up?)
He tell me I'm gainin' weight, I tell him I'm gettin' paid (Yeah)
Money over bitches, I'm yelling it to the grave
Developed at a young age (What?), go after what pays (Yeah)
These Gabbana sunshades block the sun rays (Bitch)
I drop a car note in the mall on the first date (Damn)
I gotta get it even if it's in the worst way (Yeah)
That cake, like it's, it's my birthday
New Orleans my birthplace, you heard me?
Where money's more important than a person, nigga
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches
Get money, get money, get money (Bitch), yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
[Verse 3]
Twisting up a blunt, thinking 'bout my next dollar (Okay)
I'm digging in the game, tryna get some money out her (Okay)
I'm so vain, it's a problem (Yeah)
There ain't a stain on these Pradas (Uh-uh)
I'm just bein' modest (Yeah)
Got me a goddess, show her how to divide it (Bitch)
She still down and she don't get none of the profit (Yeah)
Wheel 'round the city, let the tints hide me
That's a cold motherfucker, whoever inside it (Yeah)
Forever symbolizin' the grind, it don't walk to you
I make it run like horses do (Uh)
Giddy up, baby, if he got it, then hit him up, baby (Yeah)
I know it's crazy, but I can't get enough, baby (Yeah)
I love it, I fuckin' love it
I'm a self-made millionaire, fuck the public (Hah)
Ridin' to myself, 'cause I don't fuck with nothin'
Pistol on my lap on the way to the money
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches
Get money, get money, get money, yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
Yeah
Money on my mind, money on my mind (Yeah)
Money on my mind, money—money on my mind (Yeah)
Money on my mind, money on my mind (That's right)
Money—money on my mind
So money is all I think of (That's right)
Money on my mind, money on my mind (Bitch)
Money on my mind, m—m—m—money on my mind (You know)
M—m—m—money on my mind (Bitch)
Money—money on my mind (Bitch)
Money—money on my mind
So money is all I think of (Ayy)
Yeah
[Verse 1]
Stepping out the motherfuckin' car, they in awe (Yeah)
I'm looking like a star, bitch, when you see me, make a wish
Holler at your motherfuckin' boy, JR (Brr)
Birdman my pa, bitch, ball bred, born rich (Yeah)
Dear Mr. Toilet, I'm the shit
Got these other haters pissed 'cause my toilet paper thick
I know
But trip and that 40 make a chip out a potato-head wimp
Then like ranch, I dip (Gone)
And the hustle is all muscle, just strength
When it comes to that weight, I don't struggle, I just lift (One, two)
I got my hand on the game, yeah, I make a grip (Yeah)
Hundred grand in my fist, same on my wrist
Get key money from a quarter, blame it on my wrist (Haha)
I whip coke like hoes, nigga, I'm a pimp (Yeah)
Lil nigga 'bout to rape the market
If we talking 'bout money, baby, now we talkin'
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches (Yeah)
Get money, get money, get money (Bitch), yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
[Verse 2]
Yeah
Nigga get it in a slumber if you know how (Uh)
In the heart of the summer, we need a snowplow
What you know 'bout that? Baby, it's your time
Coke transactions on the phone, we call it blowjobs (Yeah)
Too fast for the feds, too cocky for the cops
Had to ditch my old bitch, gettin' sloppy with the pots (Bitch)
Hoppin' off the boat, meetin' papi at the docks (What up?)
He tell me I'm gainin' weight, I tell him I'm gettin' paid (Yeah)
Money over bitches, I'm yelling it to the grave
Developed at a young age (What?), go after what pays (Yeah)
These Gabbana sunshades block the sun rays (Bitch)
I drop a car note in the mall on the first date (Damn)
I gotta get it even if it's in the worst way (Yeah)
That cake, like it's, it's my birthday
New Orleans my birthplace, you heard me?
Where money's more important than a person, nigga
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches
Get money, get money, get money (Bitch), yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money
[Verse 3]
Twisting up a blunt, thinking 'bout my next dollar (Okay)
I'm digging in the game, tryna get some money out her (Okay)
I'm so vain, it's a problem (Yeah)
There ain't a stain on these Pradas (Uh-uh)
I'm just bein' modest (Yeah)
Got me a goddess, show her how to divide it (Bitch)
She still down and she don't get none of the profit (Yeah)
Wheel 'round the city, let the tints hide me
That's a cold motherfucker, whoever inside it (Yeah)
Forever symbolizin' the grind, it don't walk to you
I make it run like horses do (Uh)
Giddy up, baby, if he got it, then hit him up, baby (Yeah)
I know it's crazy, but I can't get enough, baby (Yeah)
I love it, I fuckin' love it
I'm a self-made millionaire, fuck the public (Hah)
Ridin' to myself, 'cause I don't fuck with nothin'
Pistol on my lap on the way to the money
[Chorus]
Yeah
Fuck bitches, fuck bitches, fuck bitches
Get money, get money, get money, yeah
Get money, fuck bitches
Fuck bitches, get money
Fuck bitches, get money