Brown Paper Bag Lyrics By Birdman
I got that paper bag full of paper
Bag full of kush
Big chopper I can hit you from a hundred foots
What's happenin', Wodie?
How you want it, buddy?
Them bitches checkin' for me
Tell 'em I'm with Swizz Swizzy
They call me Wizzy Fizzy
Holla back right now I'm busy
I am the president
You just play your position
And I hope that door don't hit ya
Get up outta my office crawfish
Don't let them sharkies get ya
This beat's a car collision
Check out my car collection
Yeah, look at my rims, ho
Mercedes with them kidneys
Naw that's a Benzo
I don't pop them pills no
But I pop them rubber bands
Man I can get like fifty thousand in that brown bag
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up wit ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
Yeah, ****, cook a whole, make it out a whole and a half, bitch
Shit, Birdman in a Benz with the duffel stuffed
Gotta chopper with a drum and one iced up
Them people hot around my way, but we don't give a fuck
We on the grind for the shine tryna come up
A black mack, black six, and a black Hummer
Them thirteen hundreds fourteen hundreds
We be gettin' money
Drop it off, get to work, ****, keep it runnin'
Garbage bag full of cash, ****, keep it comin'
In my hood, Red Phantom, ****, we be stunting
Got the block, blocked off, ****, we be hustling
Brown duffel bag filled up with cash
16 years old with a brand new Jag, bitch
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
N-n-n-now money, cars, clothes, hoes
All a **** know so
I'm from the ghetto so
Gimme my pesos
All brown paper bag
Sucker fill it up with ones
**** fill it up with ones
Hey, fill it up with ones
I think that she's a strip
Dancer, dancer, dancer, dancer
Hey, hey stuff it in the thing, dawg
Damn right, I be poppin' my collar
In a all black Impala
Makin' fiends, wanna holla
Got the suede on my headrest
Gold on my damn rims
Hey triple gold paint
Sucker, I ain't ridin' thin
You want me, come and get me
I'm in the three-sixty (Ferrari man)
Cash, money's with me
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Fill it, fill it up with ones
All brown paper bag
Fill it up with ones
Like father, like son
Like father, like son
Like father, like son
Like father, like son…
