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"Money Gone To My Head" lyrics by CURREN$Y
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[a.k.a. SPITTA ANDRETTI]


"Money Gone To My Head"
[feat. Roddy & Young A]


[Verse 1 - Curren$y:]
A lime to a lemon, my New Orleans woman
Ain't coming if she don't find nobody to watch her children
And if she do, then we will do what grown folks do until we done
But if she can't find a babysitter then I ain't tripping, I'll just get another bitch to come
Curren$y the hot spitter, heavy dope, fucking the same bitches who wasn't feeling a nigga a couple years ago
Shitting on 'em, oh yeah, you feel me now, so what?
You wanna come through, spark a few and get tore up?
Put that dick on you that'll make you curl your toes up
You like to hear me talk nasty, huh?
Listening to Young Money CDs while you're in the car with your boyfriend
Thinking about the last time you gave that pussy to me
Had you cumming on yourself before I even put it all in

[Hook x2:]
Some of them hoes I used to holler at, [?] I don't even pay attention no more
Money gone to my head
You used to act bad with that pussy, now I'm acting bad with that dick
I'm killing them hoes softly, not too hard, making 'em sick

[Verse 2 - Young Roddy:]
Pick me up, now I'm jazzy like Jeff is
Killed the morning, back home by the next shift
Hooked up with Spitter now my name's on the guest list
Dazed up, stay gone off the best shit
Caked up, got 'em loving the necklace
She say I stay strapped with more guns than a western
A nigga making money now them hoes wanna sex him
Yeah prank calling, pop up texting
But they weren't around when a nigga went to stressing
So it's M.O.B., but shit, I'm a ladies man
She got fresh sheets, but you know I'm staining that
Cop the whip black, but you know I'm flaming that
You know the boy gutta, ain't shit changing that
She say 'smile, ' and I mug for the camera
High word to your mother, now word to the manner

[Hook]

[Verse 3 - Young A:]
I got my mind right, focused like a psychic
Niggas on that bullshit, I'm trying to live righteous
Thinking about her life spin 'round and 'round
It's the same old shit with repetitive style
We could change it up
Have the bitches looking strange as fuck
Like when a nigga buys a car with the frame of a truck
So we breeze real smooth in the fast lane
Your girl got the head crack, addiction to the glass pipe
Vision of a flashlight, passed the songs
Young hustlers with the ice and the flashy cars
That attract the broads
Take a pause, never mind them
A whip like a chick, just something to slide in
I dive right in with my love glove on
I knew you two days, if you love, love on
Grips from a steel heart, no I could never be your man, but we still talk
We still talk

[Hook]

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