Money Man, whose real name is born as Tesfaye Akil Peterson, is an American rapper, songwriter, and entrepreneur. He hails from Atlanta, Georgia. Money Man has gained recognition for his distinctive style, which blends elements of trap, hip-hop, and melodic rap.
His journey to prominence began with the release of his mixtapes, particularly “Black Circle 2” and “Secret Society,” which garnered attention in the rap community. Money Man gained further recognition with his single “How It Feel,” which helped to solidify his place in the hip-hop scene.
Money Man is known for his introspective lyrics that often touch on themes such as street life, hustling, wealth, and personal struggles. His music reflects his experiences and observations, making it relatable to many listeners.
In addition to his music career, Money Man is also known for his entrepreneurial endeavors, including his own label and clothing line. He has remained independent for much of his career, which has allowed him greater control over his music and artistic direction.
Money Man continues to release music and collaborate with other artists, building on his reputation as a skilled lyricist and performer. He remains a respected figure in the hip-hop community, known for his authenticity and dedication to his craft.
Lyrics
I put her diamonds because she the finest I put her in Ricky, she holdin’ my blicky AMG Wagon, it sit like a Tonka Hang out the window, I’m holdin’ the chopper My jeans Dior, but got Burberry boxers Manicure Russian, her face was Korean Money increasin’, it never depletin’ She was a hood bitch, I showed her the ropes Put her in Prada, she used to be broke Trappin’ or robbin’, which one you gon’ pick? When you from where I from, nigga, good don’t exist Townhouse, two levels, it got luxury amenities I buy that bitch with a made-up identity Shoppin’ boutiques on the daily, splurgin’ I fuck her good, now her toes curlin’ Japanese bitch finna walk on my back Did a show in the hood, I was clutchin’ my strap She not my type, she not turnt up enough Expensive bitch, pay some hundred for lunch Stack up them bricks and she rockin’ like six She ’bout her business, she stay on her shit Walk in Chanel, cop her two or three purses Fuck it, right now, it’s a hundred for verses Bottega trainers, she run to that mun-yun On an opp day, ride around with a hundun Racks in the pillow case, I do not need a safe When you go strike, make sure they do not see your face I up that whistle if I feel offended He not really like that, he just be pretendin’ She not my type, she not turnt up enough She not my type, she not turnt up enough She ’bout her business, so I had to cuff She from the hood, but I put her in Prada She was a seven, but now she a model Bottega trainers, I got her in trainin’ Run up that pape’, got accounts in the Caymans Runnin’ my hood, they be worship and praisin’
She not my type, she ain’t turnt up enough She not my type, she ain’t turnt up enough Yeah, we fucked, but I ain’t like her that much That nigga trash, they just hypin’ him up Maybach truck outside, I’m scoopin’ her up Muscle car, foreign car, which should I whip? (Go) Get shot in your face, you lil’ niggas ain’t slick (baow) Outrageous bank account, bitch, I’m the shit (Speak)
I’m way too big for a skeleton Carti’ I talk too much shit, man, I had to go ‘Rari Loaf Boy, SG, nigga can’t guard me New strand ready and another finna harvest Just takin’ off, but the show been started (yeah) Late, that’s the Wock’, got me pullin’ up tardy I shitted on purpose, better not say sorry Got the brand new foreign Loyalty, I’m stayin’ down with my niggas (Loaf) “Spoil me, ” that’s what I hear from my bitches (both) The chop that I got, it can’t fit in my britches AR black and brown, this the Virgil edition This year, almost spend ’bout a ticket on opps (woah) I’m tired of sparin’ these ho-ass niggas The back of the Glock got a lil’ bitty box You tap on the trigger, it let off a fifty Hit it (grrt), hit it (grrt), hit it (grrt), hit it (grrt) Who want the smoke? I don’t hear nothin’, crickets Why niggas hate? I don’t know and don’t get it I know what it is, they see competition They know I’m a threat Extra, doin’ too much These niggas actors, but not like a movie ’cause they don’t get paid (broke) Not like a trick (no), I’m an investor Lift up your titties, move you out of state
She not my type, she ain’t turnt up enough She not my type, she ain’t turnt up enough Yeah, we fucked, but I ain’t like her that much That nigga trash, they just hypin’ him up Maybach truck outside, I’m scoopin’ her up Muscle car, foreign car, which should I whip? Get shot in your face, you lil’ niggas ain’t slick Outrageous bank account, bitch, I’m the shit
