Released: August 26, 2008

Songwriter: Eddie “Krack Keys” Montilla The Game Cool N Dre

Producer: Cool N Dre

[Verse 1]
Kanye told me that "Jesus Walks" in '04
But I grew up around Impala's and drug lords
Welcome to Los Angeles, palm trees and drug stores
All we know is rocks and presidents like Mount Rushmore
Fuck the police, they hop out and bust doors
I ain't goin' back to jail, nigga that's what I flush for
My money or my Glock, who do I trust more?
I don't know, it's probably the one that I touch more
Guess it's the green, cause paper motivate niggas
And my Rolex racist cause it hate niggas
I used to only sell 8's like that Laker nigga
Now I'm movin' 24's like I play at the Staples Center
You might miss The Game so nigga don't blink
My Phantom stand out like Frank Lucas' mink
So go ahead and think, like Frank Lucas think
Somebody'll find your brains on the fuckin' kitchen sink about

[Hook]
Dead presidents, big paper ("for the money")
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggas get ("money")
My bitches get ("money") like the strippers get
From the block to the club I'll make it rain ("money")
In California niggas die ("for the money")
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the ("money")
Don't stop gettin' ("money") It don't matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin' that ("money")

[Verse 2]
I get it, that Baby and Slim, Cash Money
All the jewelry on your whole crew, that's my tax money
That Pablo Escobar crack money
That LeBron first Nike contract money
That make it rain, all my niggas throw a stack money
Stack it to the ceilin' then call it Shaq money
That walk in the club, straight to the back money
Flavor of Love, Deelishis sittin' on my lap money
That rap money, niggas get clapped money
Air Force One's don't bend when I trap money
Ooooh, I'm Rich like Porter
Havin' Alpo nightmares whippin' that water
Like McDonald's, I was flippin' them orders
In that '02 Porche truck, whizzin' through borders
I was through flippin' quarters when I made my first mill'
I'm about a dollar, 50 Cent ain't real

[Hook]
Dead president, big paper ("for the money")
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggas get ("money")
My bitches get ("money") like the strippers get
From the block to the club I'll make it rain ("money")
In California niggas die ("for the money")
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the ("money")
Don't stop gettin' ("money") It don't matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin' that ("money")


[Verse 3]
Somebody tell Snoop to pop open them briefcases
Order that Patron, tell 'em we want three cases
Fuck a black card, you see these green faces?
Look at my chest, now you seen Vegas
Treat my money like the Cristal that we wastin'
Cause I'm a money machine, I could re-make it
You a fool thinkin' that Freddy could see Jason
I've been iced out, like who the fuck need Jacob
The doc told me to be patient, but I want
Money like Dwight Howard, next time he a free agent
I'm tryin' to make enough money so I could feed Asia
Have Asians in the kitchen cookin' in Louis V. aprons
Word to Martha Stewart, if I could park a Buick
Then I could flip a Brink's truck, I got the heart to do it
Ball like the nigga Tony Parker do it
Speak no Ingles but dinero I talk it fluent

[Hook]
Dead president, big paper ("for the money")
Benjamins, skyscrapers, my niggas get ("money")
My bitches get ("money") like the strippers get
From the block to the club I'll make it rain ("money")
In California niggas die ("for the money")
From the South to New York, them bullets fly for the ("money")
Don't stop gettin' ("money") It don't matter where you from
If you hustle motherfucker keep gettin' that ("money")

G-g-g-g-g-get your paper boy
G-g-g-g-g-get your paper boy
G-g-g-g-g-get your paper boy
G-g-g-g-g-get

The Game

Jayceon Terrell Taylor was born November 29th, 1979 in Compton, California to two Crip-affiliated gang members. He grew up on Santana Blocc, a Crip-controlled neighborhood, with a large family of half and step siblings. He was hardened by a rough and violent childhood stinting from his parent’s drug use, domestic violence, and family members being killed through gang-related conflicts.

By 2000, a 21-year-old Jayceon Taylor was a member of the Cedar Block Pirus, a Blood-affiliated gang, and dealt drugs on the streets of Compton.

Late on the night of October 1st, 2001, Jayceon was alone in his apartment when the doorbell rang and after opening the door, he was jumped by three