Finale Songtext
von Young Money

What it do, nigga? This your nigga T-Streets
Bang, bang in the building, this Young Money
First up, my nigga, Gudda Gudda
Double G, blap, blap

They call me Young Gudda, I′m all about the dough still
And anybody in my way, roadkill
Everythin' my hands touch turn to gold
Money, knots and jewels with no records sold, yeah (yeah)
I′m manhandlin' rappers with no effort
So, imagine what'll happen when I start applying′ pressure
Guillotine flow, who ready to get severed, nigga?
In or out the booth, you could get leveled, nigga

Now we gone take it to Harlem
Millzy, L′eggo


Yo, we are Young Money
Nigga, you're camp chocha
It′s about to get real ugly, Omarosa
YM vultures, it ain't a family doper
We done changed the way the game looks, Sammy Sosa (ha!)
This is life this ain′t a job
Audemare and Shapor, just symbolize I go hard
Navy on navy Camaro, I did it all for the Yankees (L'eggo)
Did it all for New York, and this love, no need to thank me, Millz

Now we gon′ take it to the West Coast
Tyga-Tyga

Uhh, fast money, I don't slow dance
Young Money, muthafucka, 'til the world end
Money overweight, bitch, Rosanne
I don′t listen to these kids, grown man
Skinny nigga, dope though, Lohan
Lindsey, the white Benz, same color Mike skin
Make yo′ soul spin when the ping load in
Au revoir, goodbye, now applaud

Now it's child′s play nigga
My lil' G, Lil′ Chuck


Young money lil' G, battle juice in my blood
Jumpin′ at yo' boy, man, you better have a bungee cord
Since Wayne took me off the leash, I ain't lose a fight yet
Now, come drag ya dog out the ring, how you love that?
Young with an attitude, watch how you talk to me
Keep playin′ Freddy, boy, I′ll leak on yo' Elm Street
Trouble is what you want, dog, pain is what you gon′ get
It's Young money to the bone gristle, ya dig?

Now we got the hottest nigga on the internet
Lil′ Twist Hefner, what it do?

Ugh, Young money, good night
And, yeah, I'm gon′ shine like an ultraviolet light
Lil' Twist gonna sell out, like it's open tonight
Goin′ for the first nigga to write
You need a telescope sight to try to see me, I′m so far gone
Even though I'm goin′ off, kids, I'm so far on
I gotta house full of chicks like the Playboy home
Wrappin′ up my lifestyle and I smashed this song, Twizzy

Yeah, next up, we have the best rapstress alive
Nicki Minaj (uh, yo, yo)

I'm in that cotton-pinkin′ Bent, put massa on the guts
White on white whips, Kunta Kinte on the clutch
You at the bottom of the pole, totem
Like Lamar Odom, I ball, scrotom
Flyer than a cricket, so they call me Nicki Jiminy
And it's goin' down, like Santa in a chimney
You don′t ball, break yo′ baby-back ribs
You need more assist than the handicap kids (oh shit)

And now the beautiful
Miss Shannelle

Young Money we rockstars
So, fuck with yo' Magnum on
And hold on, we go long
You feel that? We get that
We in that, we run that, we bus back
We hit ′em when we see 'em comin′
Back for more, back for more

Next up my nigga Mack Maine
Stupid Macknoopid, one hundred

Michael Wade family in the buildin', you can′t hold us
Me, Taz, and Wayne be the three new moguls
Buffet around here, yo' boys scrape the plates
And we don't eat up in our whips, they got paper plates
Soon as we leave the club, damn, let the models go
One word I forgot to say on his album, Hollygrove
This track the finale, nah, this the genesis
Young Money murderers, we killin′ shit forever

Yeah, Toronto
Drizzy, get ′em

Alright I got this, you can never get this
I built it up from nothin', you would think I′m playin' Tetris
Thousand dollar sweater on, but I don′t ever sweat shit
Swear the beats they give me, got a muhfuckin' death wish
Yeah, tell me, who controls kings?
I don′t follow rules, stupid old things
I'm flyin' through the city in a coupe with those wings
And my team deserves some muthafuckin′ Super Bowl rings, Young Money

I′m so in this bitch, CEO in this bitch
Lil Weezy stand tall, tippy toe in this bitch
Blood gang muthafucka', da-da, doe in this bitch
Make yo′ girl get Barry Manilow in this bitch
In the body of the world, money is the blood
And everyday I be back and forward to the Blood bank
Uh, makin' deposits ′til I fuckin' faint
New Orleans, nigga, how ′bout them fucking Saints?

It's tight on our end, call that Bubba Franks
Matter fact, it's too tight, add a couple links
I′m the bars-tender, you a women drink
Yeah, it′s Young Money, but the money ain't
Gudda tough, Nelly nice, Nick nasty
Streets bad, Tyga ill, Drake magic
Millz Harlem, Chuck wild, Twist Dallas
And Mack Maine rap, sing and manage, uh

It′s Young Moolah, baby