Released: November 3, 1998
Featuring: JAY-Z
Songwriter: Spencer Bellamy JAY-Z Sauce Money
Producer: Spencer Bellamy
[Intro: Sauce Money]
Sauce Money, yo, yeah-yeah
Sauce Money, yo
You know the dril
Chilling with my mans, Marley Marl, Pete Rock
Future Flavas
MCA style, man
Cut the check or suck a dick
[Verse 1: Sauce Money]
I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine
Shook the rap game with just one line
When me and my niggas combine, all day, you know what?
Sometimes, I run with mad niggas who done time
Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin' the vein
My shells is like information, go in your brain
Holdin' my slug, before you squeeze 'em, show 'em the love
Burn your fingertips so throw 'em a glove, understand me
Before my album drop, copped a Grammy, uncanny
Bought my first Rollie from Manny
Dirty burners, my crew never hand me; nigg,a we family
You not, get shot, get caught sniffin' like Dexter Manley
With least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red
Damn, we all the shit you can't be
We big-time, you small-time, real small, like how an ant be
Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo, and Danny (Bop!)
Peace to the Bureils, Cut Wop and Stanley (Geah!)
Boom, Moët and bow, my whole set is wild (wild)
Past threats, frontin' flash singles and that's bent
Fuck a bitch, you know the drill
Cut a check or suck a dick (What the fuck...)
[Verse 2: Jay-Z]
As a youth explosively, clappin' off the roof
Shootin' guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo'e
Back then, Gil was my co-d
Spanish Jose showed me how to get the money niggas owed me
Fast-forward: No kids, six cars, and three Rollies
Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin' on Ooba
Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up
From the Range with the ski rack, or six with the roof up
Shit, I light the motherfuckin' soundproof booth up
New shit, y'all say the same shit like you're looped up
Your raps all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorsese
What your album lack is more Jay-Z
Code name: Jay-Hova—all praise me
Y'all don't paint pictures, you all trace me
You've yet to see the day when my squad be done
I represent that shit nigga—Marcy son, what!
[Verse 3: Sauce Money]
I grab my dick in front of your bitch, screaming, "Fuck your spot"
Heatmiser, anything I ever touch was hot
Sauce watching all you wildcats flop, sound greasy
One sound on your whole CD, making my job easy
Figured as much though, got your hustle swingin'
Cop a muzzle, and then y'all got the nerve to drop a double?
Everybody ain't Big, nigga
Everybody can't flow like Jig, nigga; bitch niggas, listen—
No sorrow tomorrow if you swallow hollow-points
Like a dread in the weed spot, I'ma move some joints
I ain't playing, these BK slugs sprayin'
Mute niggas could tell you how nice I am—it goes without saying
Malicious, rap flow vicious, stack dough
Bitches sucking dicks say, "Fat boy delicious"
Pretentious niggas get it in slow-mo
Kodak couldn't picture that
So X-ray machines taking your team photo
Niggas switching like a homo, shit on your team
Fuck how they feel, get all that cream
Here comes the drama, here's the drummer, they call your number
And now your fun-filled summer filled with bounty hunters
If a bitch fuck you for free, cats will kill you for the same fee
Think niggas give a fuck what your name be?
Or your raw crew? Kid, you're all saw-through
Mad 'cause you ain't blow yet
Never fret, nigga—your bitch blew for you
Get on some Prince shit like, "I truly adore you"
Never, crab cat, fuck you—have that
Sauce Mother-F-U tricks all in the mix
300 large on my flat, up in the sticks
Nuthin' but a lot of leg room, my son and my bitch
Getting fatter off salmon, croquettes, and grits
Peace to all my niggas in Marcy, Viya Schmidt and Bits
L-channel, Henny and crime, nigga, which—
One of y'all in the mirror lookin' facing them 8's?
One in your helmet might induce a case of the shakes
B-Scott, what the deal son? Reno, where the 'dro at?
Sauce Money... You know that, nigga
Sauce Money, yo, yeah-yeah
Sauce Money, yo
You know the dril
Chilling with my mans, Marley Marl, Pete Rock
Future Flavas
MCA style, man
Cut the check or suck a dick
[Verse 1: Sauce Money]
I lay my gun fine, ideas be as bright as the sunshine
Shook the rap game with just one line
When me and my niggas combine, all day, you know what?
Sometimes, I run with mad niggas who done time
Hit you with eight, from one nine, now you showin' the vein
My shells is like information, go in your brain
Holdin' my slug, before you squeeze 'em, show 'em the love
Burn your fingertips so throw 'em a glove, understand me
Before my album drop, copped a Grammy, uncanny
Bought my first Rollie from Manny
Dirty burners, my crew never hand me; nigg,a we family
You not, get shot, get caught sniffin' like Dexter Manley
With least ten lead, spray right, paint your skin red
Damn, we all the shit you can't be
We big-time, you small-time, real small, like how an ant be
Marcy, bust a shot for Metcalf, Tilo, and Danny (Bop!)
Peace to the Bureils, Cut Wop and Stanley (Geah!)
Boom, Moët and bow, my whole set is wild (wild)
Past threats, frontin' flash singles and that's bent
Fuck a bitch, you know the drill
Cut a check or suck a dick (What the fuck...)
[Verse 2: Jay-Z]
As a youth explosively, clappin' off the roof
Shootin' guard like Kobe, raised up slay smears and bo'e
Back then, Gil was my co-d
Spanish Jose showed me how to get the money niggas owed me
Fast-forward: No kids, six cars, and three Rollies
Two cribs, trips to Cuba, sippin' on Ooba
Got rap in a stupor, first to clap your group up
From the Range with the ski rack, or six with the roof up
Shit, I light the motherfuckin' soundproof booth up
New shit, y'all say the same shit like you're looped up
Your raps all lazy, Jigga the Black Scorsese
What your album lack is more Jay-Z
Code name: Jay-Hova—all praise me
Y'all don't paint pictures, you all trace me
You've yet to see the day when my squad be done
I represent that shit nigga—Marcy son, what!
[Verse 3: Sauce Money]
I grab my dick in front of your bitch, screaming, "Fuck your spot"
Heatmiser, anything I ever touch was hot
Sauce watching all you wildcats flop, sound greasy
One sound on your whole CD, making my job easy
Figured as much though, got your hustle swingin'
Cop a muzzle, and then y'all got the nerve to drop a double?
Everybody ain't Big, nigga
Everybody can't flow like Jig, nigga; bitch niggas, listen—
No sorrow tomorrow if you swallow hollow-points
Like a dread in the weed spot, I'ma move some joints
I ain't playing, these BK slugs sprayin'
Mute niggas could tell you how nice I am—it goes without saying
Malicious, rap flow vicious, stack dough
Bitches sucking dicks say, "Fat boy delicious"
Pretentious niggas get it in slow-mo
Kodak couldn't picture that
So X-ray machines taking your team photo
Niggas switching like a homo, shit on your team
Fuck how they feel, get all that cream
Here comes the drama, here's the drummer, they call your number
And now your fun-filled summer filled with bounty hunters
If a bitch fuck you for free, cats will kill you for the same fee
Think niggas give a fuck what your name be?
Or your raw crew? Kid, you're all saw-through
Mad 'cause you ain't blow yet
Never fret, nigga—your bitch blew for you
Get on some Prince shit like, "I truly adore you"
Never, crab cat, fuck you—have that
Sauce Mother-F-U tricks all in the mix
300 large on my flat, up in the sticks
Nuthin' but a lot of leg room, my son and my bitch
Getting fatter off salmon, croquettes, and grits
Peace to all my niggas in Marcy, Viya Schmidt and Bits
L-channel, Henny and crime, nigga, which—
One of y'all in the mirror lookin' facing them 8's?
One in your helmet might induce a case of the shakes
B-Scott, what the deal son? Reno, where the 'dro at?
Sauce Money... You know that, nigga
more tracks from the album
From the albums
- Belly (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack) (1998)
- Future Flavas Mixtape (1999)
- Middle Finger U (2000)
Sauce Money popular songs