Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah
Damn, this shit sound crazy right now

Uh
This shit sound like a Saab
This shit sound like the mob
Sound like hundred dollar bills in a wad
Sound like your shit a motherfucking facade
Sound like you ain't really comfortable with who you are
Sound like your bitch finna get up in my car
Running low on killer, finna run get another jar
I got trees at the studio crib, so I ain't gotta run far
We own all the houses on the block
I'm my own next-door neighbor now
Stack that paper up and found us a way out
Turned a loose sheet of paper to a wrap and used it like a treasure map
Follow the steps, get a Rolex out of that
Flyer than the feather in my uncle hat
Pull up, lay my Chevy down flat, but you know where I'm at
You ain't coming 'round here, black
Get washed, the laundromat
Arnold, that's my homie, we go way back
Told me not to let no squares derail me off that money train
I must maintain, stay on track
All my partners got they own pack
Crazy how weed is the legal track
And the stock market is digital cash
Get int now or be left
NFT, the untouchable cash cow, I'm finna mash out like right now

Nigga got the Superman-colored Porsche outside
Shit is super vibey

Sounds like I'm the shit and you ain't the shit
Sounds like the 23 coupe, still paint the shit
Sounds like I could blow dank in the bank and shit
Sounds like your big homie salutes, I'm outranking him
Sounds like I got a couple spots, make a couple Ms
Sounds like I'm the alpha wolf in the fucking den
Sounds like I'm a made man, nigga, fuck the pen
Sounds like another form of drip, you could feel the Zen
Sounds like smoking on the yacht just to feel the wind
Linen shit, loafers laced
I don't play poker, fuck a poker face
Eyes probably closed, that's a smoker's face
Nigga, you could smoke an eighth (go 'head)
Smoke a half, smoke a zip
We be on that Sosa shit, probably bored of most of it (probably)
Nigga, that's a fact, you say no cap, think a salary
I can just snap, my man'll clap, that's a battery
Niggas stole my style, I ain't mad, that is flattery
Niggas talking tough, I don't listen, that is chattery
Oops, I mean chattering
Think about your spine, if it's shattering
Think about your mind, if it's splattering
We don't give a fuck about your family at the gathering
I was in the tub with the French soap, lathering
Probably in the McLaren riding up Madison
Ha, this that Ghost and that Spitta shit
Yeah, this that real, real nigga shit
What?

We'll return after these messages
Gee, I never realized there's so many radio stations
Yeah, but where's the rock?
It's where it's always been, on FM 100
WRNO

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Alan Maman, David Styles, Shante Scott Franklin