Money Bags

	  		Intro
              Bm 
Is this guy serious? 
Bm          Em          Em    Bm 
Is this guy serious or what? 

Chorus 
Bm     Em             Bm             Bm 
Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands 
Em                    Bm 
Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands 
Em                   Bm 
Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands 
 D      Em             Bm 
Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands 
Em                 Bm 
Let it out, let it out, let it out 


Verse 
Em                            Bm 
I foresee the jealousy all in your eyes for sure 
Em                                      Bm 
Sure, they don't want to beef with my physique or my .44 
      Em                 Bm                             Em 
Sure, life is sweet, I'm by the beach, sand all on the feet 
                                      Bm 
By the seat, the time we meet, we'll leave em' by the shore 
      Em              Bm                      Em 
Sure, pop a bean em' right to sleep sheets of my decor 
                           Bm                   Em 
With privacy, she grind on me and sweep on my rapport, whore 
Bm                                        Em 
Drama by the front door, pushing out the back door 
Em                       Bm 
Trapping out the bando, leave em' by the trap door 
Em          Bm 
Money bags, money bags 
      Em                   Bm 
Ten bands, ten bands, ten bands (ten bands) 
          Em                           Bm 
Drop the babies in the car seat, must be the Courvoisier 
    Em                Bm 
Tap on your boussie, valeting Cartier 
Em                     Bm 
Car keys to the Marcielago and Courtier 
          Em                           Bm 
Wake up thankful everyday, feel like Sydney Portier 
    Em 
Ayy ayy, soundbite, soundbite, woo 
Bm                          Em 
Cheat code, cheat code, L1, down, right 
            Bm 
Damn right, damn right 
The nigga who your sound like, sound like 
Em 
Demons fucking up my focus 
 Bm   D         Em 
Head vultures, precious death, death rows 
                      Bm 
Pockets full of dead folks 
       Em                   Bm 
Prada soles full of dead roaches 
         Em 
And some cud I stepped on 
        Em 
Waiting for her to get left 
        Bm           G              Em 
On the same place, dead bodies get left on 
                     G 
But woke niggas get slept on 
                  Em 
Broke niggas get flexed on 
                       Bm 
I really wish she had less on 
G                        Em 
I might fuck her with a dress on 
            G 
Scratching on me with her breasts on 
Bm                           Em 
We ain't stopping til' the next song 
 Em             Bm               Em 
Next song, next song, next song 

Outro: Lil Yacthy 
Bm Em Em Bm 
Bm Em 
      Em        Bm 
Ten bands, ten bands 
Em                 Bm   Em 
Money bags, money bags 
       Bm               Em 
Money bags, money bags 
      Bm                Em 
Ten bands, ten bands 
      Bm                Em 
Ten bands, ten bands 
Bm                                Em 
Ricky Owens on me look like Dom Pér 
     Bm                          Em 
St. Laurents on me, I don't wear Vans