Buddha bless this beat
Yuh, ay, go, ay, ah, oh, go, skeet
Bitch

Where my motherfucking stack
Why them twenties in the front?
Why them hunnids in the back?
Show me what you got
Bring it back for some cash
I'm a self made prodigy, I look like a bag
I'm a fuckin', millionaire I mean it
I'ma put a bitch on Front Street if you don't believe it
Ask your motherfucking, friends I'ma do it
I'm that nigga with the, AK, I'ma shoot it
I got, bitches who in love like I'm Cupid
If a nigga cross me up, on my mother, boy he stupid, he a

Dead man, walking
Chalk, tape posin', Grand Am skrtin'
Bad bitch, big booty, and she twerkin'
Ain't no flockin', I'm in Stockholm, why you stalking

Twerkin' off a sidekick, like I'm Robin
Dick have her moaning 'til the neighbors come a knockin'
Only time a nigga sweat when a nigga joggin'
I can't take advice from someone who gotta clock in
That's a Fendi, got two Bentleys, white and green
One Ferrari, all red like Supreme
Your bitch, a meat lover for the team
Try to cross me out, do you know what that mean

You a dead man, walking
Chalk, tape posin', Grand Am skrtin'
Bad bitch, big booty, and she twerkin'
Ain't no flockin', I'm in Stockholm, why you stalking

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Miles McCollum, Ty-Ron Douglas