Lyrics
I got cash in fuck you quantities
Now what?
That makes you uncomfortable?
Fuck you and the Range Rover you drove in on
Fuck your Saab convertible
And fuck your twice weekly trips to the analyst
Stupid mutha fuck
Fuck the Hamptons
Maine and fly infested south of France
I'm paid asshole
Got more cash than God can count
So why don't you just... die?
Choke to death on your damn designer bagel from Balducci's
Low cholesterol, naturally
Fuck your big ol' Sunday New York Times
Fuck the Wall Street Journal
And News Week
And the lot
Including Nation, Village Voice, Guardian and the rest
Stupid set of privileged mutha fuckers
Think its fashionable to have an alternative view
An alternative view
And fuck, if you can
Your pencil thin
Evian drinking
Calorie counting
Caffeine limiting
Sodium spearing
Nutrasweet sweetening
Rear view mirror preening
Carrot nibbling bunny
Go drown in a lake of Diet Coke, fucker
I got cash, what else matters?
I got cash
Slave
Fuck your fencing and screw your squash, yo!
Piss on your polo and your Pavarotti
Fuck all that shit you call music and pretend to enjoy
I got cash
Mega cash
Unhappy with that?
Oh, go and sit on your ski rack
Money talks you little pussy
And let your politically correct pals know
That i think you're a dick also
Neutered asshole
And your idea of multiculturalism
Japanese restaurant on Monday
Indian on Tuesday
And on Wednesday - Caribbean
Not too spicy please
Well
I got stash on stash and it ain't nouveau cash
Money's in my family for generations
My great great great grandfather made the bag