(Pipe that shit up TnT)
(Dmac on the fuckin' track)
I say, oh, oh, yeah, look

In the back of the Benz, I just got it painted
The grill gold-plated, huh, my crib still gated
But we ain't used to have not a dollar, we would go and take it
Robberies and Grand Theft Autos, I can't fake it
They told me don't be trippin' about it, I can't save it
A whole lotta money bring problems
But if a nigga play, we gon' get him murdered tomorrow
Wanna see me demonstrate?
'87 T-Top Cutly, put it on the interstate
Solitaire Dior bucket, they can't even see my face
These hoes they want me to chase, I don't keep my sneakers laced
I don't ride straight A, my key can't go to no valet
Flew my cars out to LA
I sold so many balls in this bitch we gon' need to vacate
We been off for some decades
Look, smoking grade A, but at school I got low grades
Get that boy a box of perfume, he got hoe way
Look, throw that boy a 7.62, we don't throw shade
I hope everyone don't hit you, not partly
Look, I'ma die in these Cuban links, I feel like Rod Wave
Walk through 'em, want me to call through, that's a role
Look, what you gonna do when the money through, shorty
Don't keep tellin' me what you gon' do for me
Okay, yeah, I only talk about shit that I go through, I ain't phony, huh
You gon' do, huh, what to who? I ain't homie, huh
Last man, he got trash can by the homie
I ain't no cappin', I spent you advance on lil' homie, uh
We gon' get an address, we don't land 'til the morning, huh
Matter fact, go and hit 'em up while I'm performin', huh
I just got another grill, call me George Foreman
I just got another mil' and I ain't even hungry, uh
All you niggas do it, bitch you worser than a woman, yeah
Anybody get it nigga, show me my opponent, huh
I be in the newest shit, I introduce you to this
I put you on my shooter list, fuck it, let me do the bitch
I been goin' through some shit, flip out, get the jewler hit
On the one like Chris child, we don't sip on no Christ style
I remember ridin' 'round in that bucket, huh
When we was in that Nissan, they didn't give me nothin', huh
When I was fucked up my own bitch wouldn't even love me
When I ain't have my swagger right, no hoe wouldn't even fuck me

I be on some feed the fam shit, I know my momma proud of me
I know that cut real good, I just can't put down the shit
I do it real big, but they don't acknowledge it
Look at where I live, huh
You know I cash that on it, a condo and a crib
I pay more than 1.5 for it
Every day I spend some shit, everything I'm in be lit
Every time I think about it, I be tryna spend some shit
Uh, long live all of my niggas where we done came from
Hater, I gotta talk to you in the graveyard

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): David McDowell, Rayshawn Bennett, Thomas Horton