(Coach me Joey)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, what up Babyface?
Yeah
Yeah, fifty-five hundred
(I feel amazin')
Big general

Ayy, pink 10s, bring a friend
Burberry pea coat, wheat Timbs (look)
Thinkin' back to '08, street spins
I done got grown now, fuck rims (fuck 'em)
Condo big enough to put a home in (boy)
Girl, that pussy good enough to make the song, yeah (ooh)
Perky got us fuckin' like we on the slow jam (yeah, yeah, yeah)
'Member I was fucked up so I hit the road then (I'm gone)

Nigga go and get it, you know I don't hold hands
What's a grown man?
Know I ain't goin' broke like Joc, bitch it's goin' down (down)
Know I'ma need a stick, ma I'm sorry, I can't cut no rock
Ghost is outside of the mansion, it's a haunted house (what)
Tell 'em I need a dime or I ain't comin' out (I ain't comin' out)
Know how you met the plug 'cause he ain't runnin' out (plug)
I went inside the club and made a money pile
When money on they head, the gunners run 'em down

Hit 'em up and go head and pull up, I got the money now, yeah
Just let the counter run it, love the money sound
Hand cock that shit in they face Ray, they actin' funny style, yeah
Went through the money counter, let me thumb it now
Yeah, yeah, yeah

She drunk in love and I don't even drink, wintertime mink
Soul snatchin', man that bitch a thief, she done stole me
If it ain't money, it don't move me, that's the whole thang (that's the whole thang)
Bitch I'm with the winnin' circle, we need gold rings
Gold bottles, gold chains, feel like Master P (uh)
No limit to this shit so what you sayin' to me? (What you sayin'?)
I seen my favorite rapper, he a fan of me (fan)
I'm blowin' through Miami in an AMG
Yeah I rap, but brodie play the keys, make lil mama sing
Niggas lame, they just got some money, you should fuck with me
I want a better life for the fam, niggas wanna beef
Still on the 'Gram, I done hit every one of these (everyone)
This shit ain't for everybody, breakin' knees
Run the streets like dope boys, I got coppers chasin' me (huh)
Yeah it's killers and robbers in the function, they with me (huh)
I touched down, got it sold, in the mornin' I'ma leave (go)

Shit is tragic, said they got a hundred on E (a hundred on E)
I was laughin' all in traffic, out in Cali, in a sleeve
I was fresh out of my teens with a hundred-fifty piece
Fuck I look like signin' for a hundred-fifty G's? (The fuck I look like?)
Listenin' to rappers, wasn't much I could believe (nothin' I could believe)
I ain't into rap beef, and it's an issue, drop the cheese
I'ma hit her til she knock kneed off these RP's
We at top speed, who pullin' over? Not me (skrrt-skrrt)
We gon' high speed, opps bleed, get you swiss cheesed
For like like eight bands, pocket full of pre-bagged grams
Look like Wheat Thins, black tar, whipped with Mannitol
Make the H tan, niggas broke livin' in the past, they can't think ahead
Opps slid through the block and never slide again (and never slide again)
I don't send shots on Instagram, I shoot at nigga's friends (shoot at nigga's friends)
Geesky put the city in a twist, he tryna make a dread
I'ma put some titties on that bitch and make an OnlyFans
We at yo' mans and you jumped in and made a package deal, rich before my rapper deal, nigga, ayy
Blue bands, this shit like a loose ten, I'm a made man
And I ain't gotta move another gram, on my mama

Fifty-five hundred, EST Gee
Big boss, pink 10s, blue bands, you know wassup
Big G, nigga

Copyright: TUNECORE INC, TuneCore Inc.
Writer(s): George Stone III, Marcellus Register