"Na Na Nana Na Na" as written by Joseph Jones, Matthew Alan Friedman and Jed Allan Cappelli....
As we proceed
What have we here (take that take that)
It's 0-9 motherfucker (one thing to do)
We get money motherfucker (yo)

I pulled off like na na na na na na
They would of tried some bullshit but a nigga had the blamer (try again)
They only got me cause they caught it on a camera (ow)
They wanna ball but they ain't got no stamina (they need it)
They said damn man you looking like Pac
I said nah, not alive, man I'm looking like Jones (cappo)
Besides I put money on your skull and bones
And keep it low watch what you say up on those fucking phones
Be quiet
And get ya ass hung the fuck up just like a bunch of clothes
Hey ma, we stretch work like you touch your toes
And in the middle of July we got that summer snow
I got em snowboarding in August
And I love a pretty bitch but the Porsche look gorgeous (you see it)
Harlem is one big ski slalom
I guess the Hill is like the Swiss Alps, we bring them whips out

We getting money like na, na, na, na, na, na
Waiting at the flash throwing money at the cameras
Twin turbs out speeding with the scanners
Breeze past the cops screaming na, na, na, na, na, na
We getting money like na, na, na, na, na, na
Looking at my ass know you wish he had a camera
We getting money like na, na, na, na, na, na
Drop top at the light screaming life is good.

If there's money on my head I hope they got a receipt
Cool your old ass off cause it's hot on these streets (be easy)
I got dogs and they not on a leash
So you hope you understand
Do you copy? capesh? (comprende?)
At this point I don't think they could take it
Sharks in the water they wont make it to safety (he drown)
And even though that we been getting cake
And now the money taste sweet like pastry, they hate me (back at you)
Now tell me how I look
Would you rather live life like me or by the book? (you get it?)
Sheesh, we are what we are
Make the wrong move will put your faggot ass in the ER
He's not gonna make it clear?
Flat line
If it's red apples falling hit me on the bat line (Jones)
I'm back for mine, some more black flyin'
The fliest nigga you know that got a knack for crime


And what you do nigga?
I cop cars out the future
Pocket so fat like Raspusha
I think I'm getting used to
Lifestyle rich and conspicuous
Chicks want to get with us (ow)
The feds taking flicks of us (say cheese)
They all know I put on for Harlem
Tell rich Broadway I took it up another level (God bless 'em)
I took 80, blew it on a Beezle
Bought the new Fiskar flew it through the ghetto (15th st)
The definition of opulence
The jewels dripping we dropping on top and popping shit (splash)
Who would think that this kid from the projects
Get his neck so cold you would think he's lethargic (I'm froze up)
The wrist look like hypothermia set in (what)
Pick a club night that the burner don't get in (I can't recall that)
We pop champagne until the club let out (and)
I drink and I fuck and then I piss a nigga rent out


You know the rules nigga
Fly high or get flew over
Roll with us or get rolled over
Ain't nothing change
Just the decimal point motherfucker
You get the point?
Money money money
Don't make dollars don't make sense

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"Na Na Nana Na Na" as written by Matthew Alan Friedman Joseph Jones

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

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