Yeah
Cut it up, gimme a light
Yeah, and by the way, nigga
It's Young Mula
First Lady
Uh, yo, yo

Let us begin with a bad lil' specimen
Balenciagas, only things I be steppin' in
Pucci bathin' suits, only thing I'm dressin' in
'Cause I get wetter than a navy seal veteran
Got-Got 'em writin love letters in they journal
Keep 'em on they toes like a midget at the urinal
Bad-Bad-Bad-Bad-Bad-Bad as I wanna be
She ain't bad, she a sad little wannabe

Yeah
Fuck the bullshit
It's big money poppin'
Young Mula
Yeah, just like that
What up, young nigga?
Let's go
Gudda, brrat

Uh
Okay, we runnin' this shit, when we walk in the building
Got bitches from wall to wall, hoes hangin from the ceilin'
Young Money we 'bout to kill 'em, I promise I'll make a million
And if they didn't have no hands I'll bet them bitches gon' feel 'em
I'm talkin' money and power, you gettin' money? I doubt it
Fresher than baby powder, with your bitch in the shower
That pussy, I'ma devour, I beat it up 'til it's sour
No need for you to even trip, bitch, I'll be done in a hour, let's go

Yeah, that's more like it (yeah)
Junior (uh)

They say the blacker the berry, the redder the cherry
I say the sweeter it is, you dig? Buried
Then the bullshit varies, and it got me wary
But I know two are the same, call it "murdered" and "married" (believe that)
Hustlin' is so necessary, with no adversaries
But ain't no love, like a calendar with no Februarys
I'ma need four secretary, and four Bloody Marys
I'ma go eat me some pussy, and choke off the cherry, I'm gone

Yeah, fully loaded with it
To the ceilin' with it
More money than you ever seen, nigga
Aight, Drizzy, Drake

Look, kill the game, no one recovers the murder weapon
Young Angel, if you hate me tell me burn in heaven (brrat)
How'd ya sleep on me? The highest earnin' freshmen
Like your third infection, I hope you learned your lesson (yeah)
Yeah, I spit raw, but I prefer protection
I own a heart and a mind and the shirt she slept in
Bitch, I got the answer, and still ain't heard the question
I shut your club down, please reserve my section
Fuck a confrontation, there ain't no cake in it
And I'm cakin', bitch, so tell me why I'd take a break from it
The mother of your child always tell you I'm her favorite
She call me her baby, not the one she was in labor with
She say, "Ooh, you taste good," I say, "Ooh, just savor it"
She know that she love a nigga, I be on that major shit
'Cause I get paid to stand, and I get paid to sit
So I don't walk around with money, baby girl, I'm made of it

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): Andrew Wansel, Aubrey Drake Graham, Bryan Williams, Carl Lilly, Dwayne Carter, Onika Maraj, Warren Felder