Uh
Life on the rocks
Too hard to swallow
So we get high 'til it feel like the sky low
Ya'll boys just a bunch of pussy cats, Milo
Money is the song pockets on high note
Do Re Mi Fa So
I rock like a fossil
Big boss shit, Paul Castellano
Shoot your ass up, now crawl out the condo
That's that nine nigga, uh, Rondo
Sleepin' with the enemy, so I fuck the world
To Miss Louise Anna, the sweetest southern girl
The sweetest southern girl, sweetest southern girl

Said your times up
Put your signs up
They done picked my dude
Out the line up
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them
You see many are called
Very few are chosen
Lookin' at the walls
And I can feel them close in
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them? (Kyuh)

Uh
Mind over matter, money over all
The world is on my shoulders
Should I dust my shoulders off?
Uzi rat-a-tatter, knockin' over walls
Fuck the bullshit but just don't fuck it raw
Man, pussy has a pattern and I know where I'm goin'
And if you got beef I turn it to a tenderloin
Sanity kills so I live the crazy life
I wonder if they'll pay attention if I shave the price?
Life is my wife, 'til death do us part
Man, I'm fly as fuck, you ain't even next to depart
Quick draw McGraw, I hope you like art

Said your times up
Put your signs up
They done picked my dude
Out the line up
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them
You see many are called
Very few are chosen
Lookin' at the walls
And I can feel them close in
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them? (Kyuh)

Uh
Steppin' on the bullshit, you can be my doormat
Y'all ain't goin' nowhere with that hatin' shit, four flat
Disrespectful on the beat, Borat
Fuck the system and the pussy wasn't all that
Yeah, now time's gettin' shorter
Red Light on your head like a fuckin' recorder now
Don't you cross me, you do better crossin' the border
So much money piled up, I'm a motherfuckin' hoarder, uh

Said your times up
Put your signs up
They done picked my dude
Out the line up
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them
You see many are called
Very few are chosen
Lookin' at the walls
And I can feel them close in
Baby, what the fuck wrong, wrong with them?
What the fuck wrong, wrong with them? (Kyuh)

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Bigram John Zayas, Dwayne Carter, Onika Tanya Maraj