song by Danny!
For the Love of Money lyrics

Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
GOTTA MAKE THAT MONEY, MAN
GOTTA GET THAT MONEY, MAN

Hustlers chasing, busters race for it
Bitches spend it, the rich transcend it
Reagan took it, made it crooked
Introduced crack to blacks, made them cook it
Teachers need it, preachers plead for it
Soldier in Iraq, fighting, bleed for it
Kings earn it, fiends burn it with the chasing hot
Does that make it right
Hoe's body, so naughty, it ain't tricking if you got it
Johns pay it, moms pray for it
Sinners hold it down in vain, Vegas
Banks loan it, the nigga nigga sign away his life
To fucking to borrow like they own it
Drug dealers stash it in the coupe door
And the military use it to recruit the poor
D pills – three bills
Get more section, bet you read well
Cause who the fuck gonna pay these bills
She will fuck you 'cause hey, she's trill

Drug money, blood money
Everybody love money
Court spokesman adore snake's skin
Cornucopia, fornication

Money, all I do is think about it
Dream about it, read about it
In the Fortune 500, I want it

The root of all evil has a green hue
But you say the pen house has a mean view
And as for me, it's ask or not
Try to ascertain one of my ascertains
If I can't be Swain with the dollar sign swop for the S
Then I guess it's a damn shame

Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
GOTTA MAKE THAT MONEY, MAN
GOTTA GET THAT MONEY, MAN

And my dude had a condo with another condo in it
He rented rooms and his mom's a tenant
So all he did was cash his checks, never catch him broke
Lavatory stacked the 40 Basquiet, Basquiat, always corrected him
No disrespect for him, I got an uncle, diabetic, amputated his foot
We call him Peg-Leg Pete, when he put on the shoes
He pronounced it Neeke instead of Nike
So this shit remind me of him
My nigga from the streets, never tried to fit in
Fucking care about the proper pronunciation
Long as it's getting props for what's profit, his pops was a prophet
Treated me like one of his own, stead over there when I didn't wanna go home
A dollar and a dream, this old man in the dry cleaners
?? and earn a little green to get our boost and jeans up
My dude's a genius, went to Bloomingdale's and got a suit, got cleaned cut
Copped work from this nigga Corinne, the popo never suspected a thing
And meanwhile my little money was scarce, I wasn't making any
At seventeen with a stockroom, JC Penny
At seventeen he worked the block cool, chasing Henney
But seeing weed, even he, three keys a week
This crazy bitch keyed his Jeep
If it was me, I'd slap the broad
Said he had to get out and dodge and lay low for a couple of weeks
He said D, could you please hold a couple of keys
That was the end for his offer and off he went
I never saw him again but I found out he was snitched on by another
Then his pops took his money and he bid another dry clean shopping

Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
Gotta make that money, man
Gotta get that money, man
GOTTA MAKE THAT MONEY, MAN
GOTTA GET THAT MONEY, MAN