Lyrics:

*Dice game intro*
Jay z:
Uh, uh
Uh, uh, uh, uh
Hah, how real is this?
Uh, uh, how real is this?
What? uh, what?
Uh

Verse one jay z:
We push the hottest v's, peel fast
Through the city, play monopoly with real cash
Me and biggie and the models be shaking they sadiddy ass
And prada be, somethin' you cats got to see
And the watches be all types and shapes of stones
Bein broke is childish and I'm quite grown
Run up in the club with the ice on, me and paisan
Scope the spot out, see somethin' nice and I'm gone
You cats is home, screamin the fights on
I'm in the fifteen hundred seats, watchin ty-son
Same night, same fight
But one of us cats ain't playin' right, I let you tell it
People place yourselves in the shoes of two felons
And tell me you won't ball every chance you get
At any chance you hit, we live for the moment
Makes sense don't it? now make dollars
Cats pop bottles bone chicks that favor Idalis
And rack up frequent flight mileage

Chorus: angela winbush
Gotta let it show, I love the dough, hey
I love the dough, more than you know
Gotta let it show, I love the dough, hey

Verse two: notorious b.i.g.
I'm poppin' magnums while jigga bag somethin'
Watch is platinum, got jet lag from
Flights back and forth, pop corks of the best grapes
Make the best c.d.'s and the best tapes
Don't forget the vinyl, take girls break spinals
Biggie be richie like lionel, shit
You seen the Jesus, dipped to h classes
Ice project off lights, chick flashes
Blind your broke asses, even got rocks in big mustaches
Rock top fashions
Ain't shit changed, except the number after the dot
On the range, way niggaz look at me now, kinda strange
I hate y'all too
Rather be in Caribbean sounds with rachel
It's unreal, out the blue frank white got sex appeal
Bitches used to go, 'ewww!'
Still tote steel, tryin' to see five mil
Off the sin-gle, for real
You ain't fazin the amazin
While your guns raisin, mine is blazin'
See you on see me all talkin' to sweetness
Take it for weakness and leave quick
Blocka, roc-a-fella, bad boy collabo
Two MC's with mad dough, junior uh (junior mafia)

Chorus: angela winbush
I love the dough, more than you know'
Gotta let it show, I love the dough, hey

Verse three: jay z and notorious b.i.g.
Miracu-lous, pockets stay full
Niggas skip the bull 'cause we matadors
Snatch the p-89's that we pack in the drawers
And we, clap doors in your acuras
Snap like, cameras on amateurs
Make you all dance, hold the hammer to yours
Jig and big rock ice, no cracks or flaws
Everybody got a part to play, back to yours
Run up in your crib now, crack your doors
Watch the real players live, it's a habit to floss
Play the charts like the beatles, y'all adapt you lost
And toast cristal on behalf y'all
Too bad for y'all, ain't too many as bad as yours
Truly, do we, we laugh at y'all
Little bastards y'all

Uh, uh
We hit makers with acres
Roll shakers in vegas, you can't break us
Lost chips on lakers, gassed off shaq
Country house, tennis courts and horseback
Ridin' decidin crack crab or lobster?
Who say mobsters don't prosper
Niggaz is actors, niggaz deserve oscars
Me I'm, critically acclaimed, slug past your brain
Reminisce on dames who, coochie used to stink
When we rocked house pieces and puffy gucci links
Now we buy homes in unfamiliar places
Tito smile every time he see our faces
Cases catch more than outfield-ers
Half these rappin' cats, ain't seen war
Couldn't score if they had point game, they lame
Speak my name, I make 'em dash like dame

Chorus: angela winbush
I love the dough, more than you know
Gotta let it show, I love the dough, hey
(Repeat to fade)