Dirty money
It’s dirty, filthy
Special Teamz, Ill Bill
Duck down, follow along

[Verse One: Jaysaun]
It all started in the Franklin mint
And the ink they used to print us had a light green tint
Bagged us up, stuck in a truck from Wells Fargo
Hell’s cargo shipped to a bank in Key Largo
Where all of my brothers with similar serial numbers
Intense scrutiny, security printed asunder
I wonder would they fold me? Fill me with drugs?
Will I be given to a priest as a donation from thugs?
Listen close, you don’t need to be a scholar to follow
To scan this trail traveled by the US dollar
If you hear me better holla instead of popping your collar
A lot of us stacked together like cheese in an enchilada
Used for change in the champagne room
Holding some ‘caine, exchanged for pussy and brain
Withdrawn around dawn by a strip club owner named Vaughan
From Coconut Grove with a manicured lawn

[Hook: Ill Bill]
The name’s Bill but you can call me dirty money
People lie, cheat, steal and murder for me
I’m God, no religion in the world’s above me
Let’s fight in the water holes, even Curtis love me
Make deals, hustle hard, you’ll be earning lovely
Whips and cribs is pimped out, the burn is comfy
Coke dealers, world leaders, yo we serve the country
Don’t sleep though eventually things turn ugly
[Verse Two: Slaine]
I got the face of a slave owner, cloned wrapped in a stack
The United States of America tats on my back
Saying God we trust, my abomination is as strong as Satan’s
The bigger the combinations of my denominations
The thicker the plot, I’ve been passed for liquor and pot
Bitches who’re tricking for a dick in the twat
Coming up, they murder for me when the pistols were shot
I built the weapons that destroy countries, my missiles are dropped
I travelled the earth for seventeen years and never been clean
My face creased to hell, bought dope for heroin fiends
I’ve been rolled and put in a nose with Hep C
In strip clubs they throw me at hoes and sex scenes
Shoved in her asshole, before I’m hanging out I got it
Yeah I’m caught up in a vicious cycle everyone’s a part of
Touched by millions of hands, blood, pussy, and drugs
From cops and lawyers to judges, addicts, hookers, and thugs

[Hook]

[Verse Three: Edo G]
Aerial thunder, my worth is in my serial number
I’m worse when they fill me with hunger
Material wonder, fresh out of the Bank of America
So I wind up in the coach bag of Erica
And I travelled in her pocketbook
Trying not to look, touched by eight hands like an octopus
New money, pre-fab, her parents put her ass in rehab
She passed me for an E tab
To a n***a who’s pretending funny
He wasn’t making, he’s just spending money
Don’t defend the dummy
Now that n***a got me wrapped in a rubber band
Put me on a chain, gold and diamonds from the motherland
I’m in the other hand of another man of a jewelry store
Never truly been poor and I’m the reason for high crime
Money can buy you a clock but it can’t buy you time