text: I got my mind on my money and Im not going away
  So keep on getting your paper
  Now behold its your excellence
  C.I.T.C.O., forward slash president
  East side resident, its oh so evident
  Brinx Billy ride cousin, black on black phantom, 26s on the side of em
  Ninas on the side of em, goonies on the side of em
  Anybody get it boy be careful on the side of them
  These niggasll bury you, guns, no serial
  Money hungry honey with me when they holla she gonna carry you
  Flyer than a aerial, vehicle, gerital
  Sitting on my feet when Im stuntin on them people
  I tell no fables everything tailored
  Fax machines, Office Max, see me for that paper
  You working with short bread, aint my money long youngin
  Bitch Im bout trappin, more digits than a phone number
  Different time zones on em, kill them niggas lyrically
  Left side of my closet, look invaded by Italy
  Right side Paris, left side flagging, paper is my main chick, me and money married
  And thats all a nigga know bitch, thats why these brand new niggas on my old shit
  Thats what I did I came up out the truck you what Im mean
  I chuck my deuces like thats all I do like
  Young Money, Nicki Minaj, its the ninja, Harajuku Barbie and all that
  Like naamean, all that
  We getting money, you writing disses, we getting money
  Yeaaaaa boiiiiii
  Hit me my limousine, all in your magazine
  And when I come, them better lean like Promethazine
  Dem no seh Nicki nice, Im bout my money mama
  And tell Michelle, I got my eye on Barack Obama
  Tryna get that Madonna, you know, Hannah Montana
  Could find me sitting Indian style with the Dalai Lama
  Konichiwa I get my yen and I say sayonara
  Im meditating, Im in cahoots with a higher power
  Mind on my money, mi-mi-mind on my money yo
  Mind on my money, mi-mi-mind -- Namu Myoho Renge Kyo
  Mind on money, ayy, mind on my money babe
  How does this money taste? Whining on moneys face
  You see the signs and the teachings
  If you aint know well this is grinding season
  Now go and get your gangs signs, throw it up!
  Where all my niggas on them bikes? Throw it up
  We dont care what you say, we aint going away
  My niggas bring the heat, its not a summer day
  So find all my motherfuckin money, my mind on my motherfuckin money
  Ayo I speak foreign languages and shit but the language I speak is that money language flipmode bitch
  Brinx I like how we do the brinx truck job on these niggas homey
  Time after time again I like niggas and
  Remind niggas how I hold out on motherfuckers
  Niggas out here fronting about they bread you cant trust it, nigga
  My money so stupid, call me Warren Busta Buss, nigga
  Glad it aint a toss and everything about me butters
  Ive been counting money so Long I see dollar signs and different colors
  My money is smear and smothered your money you hear me brother
  Been about that bread like I was broke or still in the gutter
  And in case you aint know there will be no replacement
  And them bags of Arab Money I got stashed in the basement
  Face it, whenever I shine, I glisten, and whenever I talk, you listen
  Aint no money getting made in these streets without my permission
  I keeps it drug-infested, my money is well connected
  Its to the point my conglomerate is well-respected
  You need to check my method
  I promise you I be the wrong nigga when it comes to my money that you ever want to mess with
  Grind like missionary labor, holding dignitary paper
  You already know my team is filled with consiglieres, we made you
  I dont give a fuck about your stipulation
  Type of bread appropriate for every situation
  You can tell by the jewelry sitting on my collar
  From the bread to the crib, I know all about the dollar