Download from Apple Store
Download from Google Play

E-92 - Paper lyrics

[Intro: E-92]
Yo, this is E92 on the f**ing track
Repping the Five Saints clique
We making mad f**ing paper

[Hook: The Etherealist]
I get so much paper; my haters, see you later [x8]

[Verse 1: The Etherealist]
(Yeah, yo it's your boy The Etherealist)
(Mother-f**ing Oz Mosis, the Madk**a up in here)
(Yo, we making mad stacks like we Jordan f**ing Belfort, what you know about that sh**?)
In the club, feeling nice and I got so much ice
b**hes diving for me like a floatation device
Gold ring on my right and titties on my left
Last p**y tried test this, lost his mother-f**ing head
b**h, I get so much paper; my haters, see you later
p**n-star on my penis while I'm huffing on that vapour
Snorting all the yayo, this my f**ing year
Twenty-three b**hes in my whip; mother-f**ers ain't got nothing on me so they better clear
Yeah, watch your girlfriend drop it low in the back of my mother-f**ing car
Got a b**h on my lap and a b**h on my dick; triple digits ain't gonna get far
Single digits neither: ride with Ether, ten's what you are
'Less you got triple X-Y titties, b**h, I am a rock-star
b**h, get in my damn car; we can ride through the city
Then I'll put your a** to sleep after s**ing on your titty
(No, not cause I'm... just cause she's tired)
(Because I'm rich, doesn't mean I'm gonna rape everything)


[Verse 2: E-92]
(We rocking ninety-inch rims on our f**ing Caddies)
(Mother-f**er, I got thirty hoes in my f**ing Limo)
(Mother-f**er, each of my house rocking a f**ing twenty carat grill)
I got so much paper, them girls don't have to pay
Doing pretty well, tripping MDMA
Gather in the club, all those honeys drift on by
But I don't give a f** cause I'm still looking fly
sh**-f**er, I don't know where my head's spinning now
All I see is n***as; they be surfing in the crowd
[Mid-verse skit]
My haters, see you later: I'm f**ing to LA
But shut your f**ing mouth, honey, you don't get a say
[Lyrics from: https:/]
Stepping in the club, I'm looking f**ing swag
But b**h comes up to me and she's dancing like a slag
Homies in the crowd also liking what they see
But let's be god-damn real; I like it more than titty
Quicket wants my paper, but if he even gets close
I'mma cut him down like a mother-f**ing roast
Don't get up in my sh**, son; this is f**ing mad
Over to my boy Etherealist; he's up and f**ing rad


[Verse 3: DJ Quicket Bat] [Freestyle]
(Paper aeroplanes. Fly like cash and gold)
(Oh yeah, paper travelling places gets you there)
Financially secure, you never touch this whore
That I got, that I paid so much money for
Oh yeah, all my greens, look at my greens
All they [incomprehensible]
Not much like weed, but maybe if you want it to be
Oh sh**, look at that: I just got weed from right out of my hand
Because I got so much money in my pocket
Throwing it at... f**ing prostitutes
They all, they love it. Oh, it's so much money
They can't even fit it down their bras
Cause it's just all over the place, yeah
Money, money, money. Oh, he's got
Oh, is it Benjamin Franklin?
I don't even know cause I don't even care
Cause it's just so much money right coming out of my hair right now
It's like spaghetti; it's just all over everywhere
Just fell out my pockets and like, oh, it's on my feet now
Oh, [incomprehensible] got money on the floor
Oh, he's loving it
Oh, f**ing Hell
(Money, money, money. It's so funny)

[Outro: The Etherealist]
And there you have it. There it is
Five Saints and E-92, mother-f**er
We ain't even on this rap sh**; we on this 'making paper' sh**
b**h, I got more in my f**ing pocket than you got in your year's salary
b**h, I wipe my f**ing a** with your year's salary
I got a gold chain for every mother-f**er in my phone book
I got so much paper cause I don't even pay taxes
Leave out that last bit

Correct these Lyrics