(Sad Pony)

Watch, mhm
Glock, mhm
Cocked, mhm
Got it, mhm
You need that? I got it
This cash in my pockets
The 'Cat one hundred
You need that? I got it
Need it, got it, cash, pockets
Bands on me, sticks on me
You need that? I got it
This cash in my pockets
The 'Cat one hundred
You need that? I got it

Yeah, she like how I throw them racks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that cash
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that ass
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Benz truck in the back
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

I know you don't like me, you wanna fight me
You don't want no problems at your party, don't invite me
I don't worry 'bout you niggas, please stop talking 'bout me
Always talking 'bout me 'cause you looking for the clouty
6ix-nina, the 9ine-nina
Riding in the two-seater with two ninas
Baby got that Aquafina, it's cocaina
Smoking on that OG reefer, no TMZ-a
Forgiatos on a Benz truck, make her friends fuck
Told her she could get Chanel if she let my friends fuck
Stars shining in the Rolls Royce, it got red guts
Wait, hold up, nah, I still don't give a fuck
Vroom, vroom, G5
Vroom, vroom, we high
You the type of nigga that I never wanna be like
You the type of bitch that will never get a reply
Hi, hater, bye, hater, vroom

And, she like how I throw them racks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that cash
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that ass
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Benz truck in the back
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Boomin' at your man, now we boomin' at his matas
Split his fucking wig, bust it open like piñata

He tryna put it en mi culo, real fat gato
When he eat it, I tell him to squeeze it like a taco
All my niggas out of town, moving all that blanco
I ain't letting up on you bitches say "uncle"
Still the baddest bitch, quarantining en mi casa
Talking all that shit, but you bitches ain't saying caca
Uh, a flock of birds, waka
All my bitches pretty, juicy booty, pretty knockers
Yeah, eat it, Cookie Monster (ooh)
He a slave to this pussy, call me master
Real wet, I said, "Slurp it like it's pasta"
They get nervous when it's Nicki on the roster (rrr)
Somebody usher this nigga into a clinic
My flow's still sick, I ain't talkin' a pandemic
I write my own lyrics, a lot of these bitches gimmicks
They study Nicki style, now all of dem wan' mimic
Talkin' 'bout snitches when it's snitches in your camp
Never stand alone, you always itchin' for a stamp
Me, I'm still money, wrists light up like a lamp
They gon' have to send they best fighter for the champ

And she like how I throw them racks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that cash
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that ass
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Benz truck in the back
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Watch, mhm
Glock, mhm
Cocked, mhm
Got it, mhm

If he like, I throw it fast, real fast, fast, fast
He singin' my old song, yellin', "Ass, ass, ass"
They be speedin', tryna beat me, then they crash, crash, crash
Still a hundred like the number on my dash, dash, dash

Copyright: Globaband, Inc., Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Aaron Clarke, Andrew Green, Daniel Hernandez, Jahnei Clarke, Jeremiah Raisen, Onika Maraj