PHILTHY RICH


Hard Earned Lyrics (feat. Money Man, Jack Boy, TEC & G.T.)

[Philthy Rich:]
(Wood on the beat)
I miss all them niggas, I miss all them niggas
f*ck you, your dead homies, bitch, all them niggas
Ayy, it's Philthy, nigga
Uh-huh, look

Screamin' f*ck 12, Maine took twelve
Caught my first case at twelve, but I wouldn't tell
Bitch, I jumped off the porch as a young nigga
Used to slide on the opps just for fun, nigga
Yeah, I really sold crack in my neighborhood
I ain't proud of it, but a product of my hood
Fake niggas gon' believe fake shit
Ain't a nigga on this earth ever take shit
All my niggas locked up, I miss all them niggas
f*ck you and your dead homies, bitch, all them niggas
I'm a money man, but still'll get you jacked, boy
Sneak dissin' in them songs'll get you whacked, boy

[Money Man:]
I can't make mistakes because that shit might cost me
I just pulled up in that Rover, this shit here costly
I need M's because I gotta feed my offspring
I got streams and I got Percs and I got watches
I can't f*ck with none of these haters, these niggas toxic
I been vacuum sealing loud and stuffing boxes
She gon' bust it for a real one, she gon' drop it
I can't let my check decrease, I gotta prosper
We can't let these niggas survive, we gotta conquer
My BM told me that she only f*ck with bosses
All I'm thinkin' in my head is I gotta go harder
All these stones around my neck, these bitches hard-earned

[Jackboy:]
All these stones around my neck, these bitches hard-earned
Never been a fold, Lil Jack was taught to stand firm
Still totin' sticks we hit from the licks I got from Melbourne
Shots to the chest, tryna give a nigga heartburn
Shots to the chest, tryna leave a nigga woozy (Leave him woozy, bitch)
Shots to the chest, tryna ride down a foreign (On a foreign, bitch)
They tryna shut us up, ayy (Tryna lose me, bitch)
We hoppin' out, poppin' out with wooly (With the wooly, bitch)

[TEC:]
Got a .223 in a two seat (Booyah)
Put a nigga to sleep 'fore they snooze me ('Fore they snooze me)
Chopper give 'em wings for that blue cheese (Blue cheese)
And a nigga weak on a Tuesday (Bitch, come here)
All we know is slide, I created a hockey team (Hockey team)
Whenever we collide, open fire, let that chopper sing (Chopper sing)
Badda-boom, badda-bing, reality is not a dream
He a casualty, I'll empty your whole salary, give me everything
My bitch tryna spin like a ballerina (Ballerina)
Street sweeper clean up, bloody the whole scene up (Grrah, bah)
Close the witness eyes, they never say they seen us (Nah)
Married to the game, but I got a pre-nup

[GT:]
Ayy, I'm up at five in the morning and I'm whippin' yams up (Yeah, whippin' yams up)
Philthy just pulled up (Skrrt), all white Lam' truck
I like my money face the same way, rubber band up (Rubber band up)
I don't f*ck with new niggas, that'll get you jammed up (For real)
Spent a dub on my chain, it shine when the lights out (Racks)
Ten racks'll have them killers at your crib right now (Bah, bah-bah)
You ain't really 'bout all that shit you talkin', pipe down
Drunk an eight yesterday, I'm tryna put the pint down (For real)
Made me a play, I'm 'bout to go get fresh as f*ck
Gucci to my socks and threw on the white buffs (For real)
Two hundred racks was the mission, now I'm tryna get a ticket (Ayy)
Lot of niggas just be cappin' to you, but we really get it, nigga

[Jackboy:]
All these stones around my neck, these bitches hard-earned
Never been a fold, Lil Jack was taught to stand firm
Still totin' sticks we hit from the licks I got from Melbourne
Shots to the chest, tryna give a nigga heartburn
Shots to the chest, tryna leave a nigga woozy (Leave him woozy, bitch)
Shots to the chest, tryna ride down a foreign (On a foreign, bitch)
They tryna shut us up, ayy (Tryna lose me, bitch)
We hoppin' out, poppin' out with wooly (With the wooly, bitch)

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Songwriter(s): Philthy Rich, Money Man, Jackboy, TEC, GT
Record Label(s): 2020 SCMMLLC EMPIRE
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