Money

(Money slow to enter, eh

Money quick to go, eh

Money slow to enter

Where money dey go?

I don't know, I don't know, eh)

Yo, I didn't grow poor but I didn't grow rich

It wasn't cruising through life but we ruin in the ditch

I would look at some of my friends and get that itch

To scratch that cash, to look that flash

Grew with the comply, no self-esteem

Pops bitched back when Dad didn't make Cream

Momma stayed home till the boys got grown

We reminisce sometimes on the phone

How sometime for Christmas, wasn't no wishlist

Wasn't no chickens, there wasn't no rice

We didn't have money for fees, it was a funny couple gees

But still we couldn't pay that price

Still I had it easy and life was good

I trade stories with some of my men from the hood

Drama every day, trauma where they lay

Momma used to say

(Money slow to enter, eh

Money quick to go eh

Money slow to enter

Where money dey go?

I don't know, I don't know, eh)

Life is Justra Enthel

You wanna get laid but you can't afford the fail

'Cause if you don't hit it life will seem like Hell

And death is a 'cause if you wanna make bell

The rich gets richer, the poor gets screwed

Living is like oil, it gets crude

Be rich and inherit the merit and get chewed

Trials in main life will not get you

Money is the key if you want life to chill

Money is the juice to produce some skills

But money when abused, the slaughter with the kill

So listen up people, this is real

Some money can break you if you're so unfaithful

Don't love her too much because she will forsake you

Some give her everything and shower praise

But what a bitch when it never stays

(Money slow to enter, eh

Money quick to go eh

Money slow to enter

Where money dey go?

I don't know, I don't know, eh)

I remember that my Father used to say

"Pray for better days

And God to direct your feet with cheeda lay"

And cheeda lay is the distress on vertebrae

'Cause all I can do is drain and get away

To fast forward a few years

A few spring summer times out of a new year

Now I'm in the U.S. fighting a few fears

Grace for a never first place Nigerian

And my brother be writing me, letters and e-mails

Telling me about school and home and females

Telling me about this lovely girl he's met

He's sure he loves her

Though he hasn't kissed her yet, yeah

And P.S. he thinks it sounds bro

I need that new P.S or new Nintendo

Then I would get off from the call

Put a pen on my palm

What could I write to make him understand?

(Money slow to enter, eh

Money quick to go eh

Money slow to enter

Where money dey go?

I don't know, I don't know, eh)