[Intro: E-92]
Yo, this is E92 on the fucking track
Repping the Five Saints clique
We making mad fucking paper
[Hook: The Etherealist]
I get so much paper; my haters, see you later [x8]
[Verse 1: The Etherealist]
(Yeah, yo it's your boy The Etherealist)
(Mother-fucking Oz Mosis, the Madkilla up in here)
(Yo, we making mad stacks like we Jordan fucking Belfort, what you know about that shit?)
In the club, feeling nice and I got so much ice
Bitches diving for me like a floatation device
Gold ring on my right and titties on my left
Last pussy tried test this, lost his mother-fucking head
Bitch, I get so much paper; my haters, see you later
Porn-star on my penis while I'm huffing on that vapour
Snorting all the yayo, this my fucking year
Twenty-three bitches in my whip; mother-fuckers ain't got nothing on me so they better clear
Yeah, watch your girlfriend drop it low in the back of my mother-fucking car
Got a bitch on my lap and a bitch on my dick; triple digits ain't gonna get far
Single digits neither: ride with Ether, ten's what you are
'Less you got triple X-Y titties, bitch, I am a rock-star
Bitch, get in my damn car; we can ride through the city
Then I'll put your ass to sleep after sucking on your titty
(No, not cause I'm... just cause she's tired)
(Because I'm rich, doesn't mean I'm gonna rape everything)
[Hook]
[Verse 2: E-92]
(We rocking ninety-inch rims on our fucking Caddies)
(Mother-fucker, I got thirty hoes in my fucking Limo)
(Mother-fucker, each of my house rocking a fucking twenty carat grill)
I got so much paper, them girls don't have to pay
Doing pretty well, tripping MDMA
Gather in the club, all those honeys drift on by
But I don't give a fuck cause I'm still looking fly
Shit-fucker, I don't know where my head's spinning now
All I see is niggas; they be surfing in the crowd
[Mid-verse skit]
My haters, see you later: I'm fucking to LA
But shut your fucking mouth, honey, you don't get a say
Stepping in the club, I'm looking fucking swag
But bitch comes up to me and she's dancing like a slag
Homies in the crowd also liking what they see
But let's be god-damn real; I like it more than titty
Quicket wants my paper, but if he even gets close
I'mma cut him down like a mother-fucking roast
Don't get up in my shit, son; this is fucking mad
Over to my boy Etherealist; he's up and fucking rad
[Hook]
[Verse 3: DJ Quicket Bat] [Freestyle]
(Paper aeroplanes. Fly like cash and gold)
(Oh yeah, paper travelling places gets you there)
Financially secure, you never touch this whore
That I got, that I paid so much money for
Oh yeah, all my greens, look at my greens
All they [incomprehensible]
Not much like weed, but maybe if you want it to be
Oh shit, look at that: I just got weed from right out of my hand
Because I got so much money in my pocket
Throwing it at... fucking prostitutes
They all, they love it. Oh, it's so much money
They can't even fit it down their bras
Cause it's just all over the place, yeah
Money, money, money. Oh, he's got
Oh, is it Benjamin Franklin?
I don't even know cause I don't even care
Cause it's just so much money right coming out of my hair right now
It's like spaghetti; it's just all over everywhere
Just fell out my pockets and like, oh, it's on my feet now
Oh, [incomprehensible] got money on the floor
Oh, he's loving it
Oh, fucking Hell
(Money, money, money. It's so funny)
[Outro: The Etherealist]
And there you have it. There it is
Five Saints and E-92, mother-fucker
We ain't even on this rap shit; we on this 'making paper' shit
Bitch, I got more in my fucking pocket than you got in your year's salary
Bitch, I wipe my fucking ass with your year's salary
I got a gold chain for every mother-fucker in my phone book
I got so much paper cause I don't even pay taxes
Leave out that last bit
