MMO (MONEY MAKIN OPERATION) - A Jazzy Rhyme lyrics

(feat. The Massive)

[Intro: Naisha (Triggnomm)]

Yo this shit's recording kid

So drop some jazz shit (drop some shit)

Drop some jazzy shit, (put the blunts down)

Drop some jazzy shit, (son set it off, set it off)

[Naisha]

The State of Naisha, mug like Tai Yung

Piss fruit wine, travel like fruit flies

Through blue skies, America, San Pucci can take

Cushion, I owe extinction, and play bronze

Wit violins, we deep like talons

It's Costello, the classic M.J. smoke weed says

Live like the life on ya R.C.A.

The odyssey, blood and poetry, the shako wit pottery

A mockery, to slay me a Mussolini wit Kennedy

Muscle me, Emilio Savage team

Goodfellas is obscene, my off the can is fuck up the scene

Bonjour Madame, sushi, you bleed burgundy

Oh sanata, doing a bada, Benjamin on Pearl Harbor

Uh, you feeling it, spoke the smooth words of Shawn Carter

My day will hood ya rob saga, the city in red

Seen the crew, dealt the income, seven P.M.

Bermuda tennis, remember in the A.M.

Shit like stankon, or bredren, we spread like tiger bomb

Twisted and feel it on, black espionage

Bump Nas, crack the Naisha, all in favor

[Chorus x2: Triggnomm]

It's a jazzy rhyme from the J to the Z

Wit a classic shine like a '98 M3

Smooth as Badu, slow mo' from Malibu

To Honolulu, The Massive, we comin' through

[Triggnomm]

Peep the latest, medallions players

My scene is a drop top black Beem, interior mint green

Plus loaded, pass Naish' the dice, bet he roll it

4-5-6, stock bank, now we holdin'

Niggas is cucci, we absolutely get the lucci

Son, I love money, like Ricky love Lucy

In fact, I know this cat in Colorado named Ricardo

Pushin' milato's, money and murder was his motto

He read the Bible, that's only cuz he live the trifle

New his days were numbered the surface of disciple

Meanwhile, he stay browsin' for housin'

Cuz black cats just can't play these maps wit thousands

Ice jewels, cuz cash rule, keep a two

True hard knock, take that ass straight to school, son

I got a feeling we gon' rise this far

Word bonds, scratchin' my palm, eatin' shrimp parmegan

True Don Juan, wit the iced out clusters on

You gots to hustle, then son, get ya hustle on

You gots to gamble, then son, get ya gamble on

Big Trigga, best believe, I'm gon' handle long

[Chorus x4]