"T-Shirt" lyrics

Uh
Feelin'—You woke up feelin' way better, way better than the day you did before
Whole—Whole—You got the whole world in the palm of your hands, you haven't let it go
Nard & B
It's DJ C-Money in this motherfucker, La Familia
Freeband Gang, we global now, whoo-whoo

Got my T-Shirt game crazy, I'm goin' money-crazy
All this money confiscatin', ain't no imitatin'
All it took was some patience, niggas still hatin'
Mo' money and mo' problems, ain't no imitatin'
Glock .40, lemon squeeze, why you better tote it
Strippers, money, weed, Young Future, I promote it
Like, when I was sellin' rocks, nigga, I'm still hungry
Quarter million, all hundreds, got 'em all on me

Hell ya, 'bout that lifestyle, Prada's on me right now
Had to pay my lawyer off, 'cause, nigga, I don't do trial
Bitches, I don't do trial, you can keep your comments
I be gettin' this money, 'bout to fucking vomit
.30 on my stomach, tell me, how bad do you want it?
Prada's what I'm rockin', Alexander got me cocky
All that damn finessin', and I took off like the Jetsons
All that damn stressin', and a nigga start progressin'

Got my T-Shirt game crazy, I'm goin' money-crazy
All this money confiscatin', ain't no imitatin'
All it took was some patience, niggas still hatin'
Mo' money and mo' problems, ain't no imitatin'
Glock .40, lemon squeeze, why you better tote it
Strippers, money, weed, Young Future, I promote it
Like, when I was sellin' rocks, nigga, I'm still hungry
Quarter million, all hundreds, got 'em all on me

Ain't no sympathy, nigga, ain't no sympathy, nigga
You remember me, nigga? Know, you remember me, nigga?
I'ma whip up in them foreigns, make you envy me, nigga
I'm gon' whip up in them foreigns, make you envy me, nigga
I got that sack out the front door, and I went straight through the back
I was fucked up and starvin', I go stand right in that trap
I'm 'bout to sell me some yayo, I gotta jug out in Clay Co
I won't wear 'em no more, if those shoes a day old
See how consistent I am? See how persistent I am?
I woke up in that Bugatti, went and bought me three Lambs
That's an Aventador, nigga, that cost a hundred a piece
I went so hard in the streets, I'm 'bout to have me a feast

Got my T-Shirt game crazy, I'm goin' money-crazy
All this money confiscatin', ain't no imitatin'
All it took was some patience, niggas still hatin'
Mo' money and mo' problems, ain't no imitatin'
Glock .40, lemon squeeze, why you better tote it
Strippers, money, weed, Young Future, I promote it
Like, when I was sellin' rocks, nigga, I'm still hungry
Quarter million, all hundreds, got 'em all on me