Dirty Money Lyrics & Chords By Clipse

(Intro)
Yo what up ma, I got a pocket full of stinkies, let's go spin these right quick.
What's that?

(Chorus)
All my fly bitches like (dirty money, dirty money)
All my stripper bitches like (dirty money, dirty money)
All my college hoes like (dirty money, dirty money)
Don't it spend so right? (dirty money, dirty money)
Now let's go shopping, let's go chill (dirty money, dirty money)
Let's go buy the new Louis Vuitton heels (dirty money, dirty money)
Ass full in La Perla, ears full of pearls (dirty money, dirty money)
Damn dirty money know how to keep the girls (dirty money, dirty money)

(Verse 1)
Give a litte, take a little
Ma check the dilly
Most niggas is will-nots
YOu're dealin' with a will-y
3D Faces on them crisp new billies
Got Benji lookin' all googly-eyed and silly
The glitter chill got your mind seein' milly-mills
From seven-figure to bigger, you thought see little real
See I don't blame you, cashmere is what you feel
Picturin' the fortune, you just tryin' to spin the wheel
Brain like Terry, face like Eva
I ain't forgettin' them other housewives neither
Two-seaters, back of the trunk
Two fevers
Stayin' up till 2AM to watch Cheaters
Long as I'm nice with the flame and the flask
I don't mind keeping you up on the must-haves
Peep-toe pumps, Gucci slouch-bag
Now tell me is that dirty money really that bad?

(Chorus)

(Verse 2)
We could trick tuition, you could be the vixen
You could front for your girlfriends, I ain't trippin'
You done got you a rapper, I see your vision
And one of the best too, that's ambition
You could tell me 'bout your day, I pretend I'll listen
And you ain't gotta love me, just be convincing
I don't ask much, some ashes on the cuff
and that silver bullet, automatic or the clutch
Nah, mama, hush, you ain't even gotta speak
Just put it on your charge, check makes your feet
Compliments of me, take the bitter with the sweet
And we can get this money like it's fallin' outta tree
Uh, come spend a dollar, yeah, bathe in it, wallow
Seventeen-five for the low, tell 'em holla
Love you in the Scotta
Jimney two Prada
Snow White's your life, how's that for starters?

(Chorus)

(Verse 3)
To my fly ghetto bitches with the hairshop talk
Braggin' to their hairdresser 'bout that shit he bought
To my South Beach bitches with that sassy walk
Who ain't tryin' to hear nothin' if you don't ride Porsche
To my get money niggas gettin' paper for sure
Trickin' grands up in Louis for the love of the sport
I tell ya, get money money take money money, uh
Dope money money's great money money, what?

Before I bicker with ya, ma, I'ma switch ya
I fly 'em in quick, I fly 'em out even quicker
By no means am I in love with a stripper
You understand that then you fit in the glass slipper
Travel abroad, sittin' in G4s
Changing the weather, when it rains, it pours
And your crib is adjoined with French doors
You ride for your boy, then anything is yours

(Chorus)