[Intro]
(Marc Boomin)

[Verse 1]
N***as askin' why my pants saggin'
Probably 'cause of this Glock .23, I'm never lackin'
Bitch keep callin', tryna ask what's our current status
Run into your crib like I need everything, rip up the whole mattress
The IRS gon' have to come and get me, I ain't payin' taxes
N***as workin' for a job everyday, checkin' in with master
He was already down, I shot him again, he checked out faster
Tell a label come with a hundred million, they can have my masters

[Interlude]
Damn, I just forgot the next bar
What the fuck I just say?
I just—, no, no, no
What the fuck I just say?

[Verse 2]
None of my plays goin' through, it is just not my day
You don't look out for your n***as, that is just not okay
N***a callin' me his mans and we just met today
You shoppin' with the wrong n***as, you just got your ass laced
Your mans might be hatin' on the low, test him and see if he two-faced
Them Rolex be too cheap, fuck the red and blue face
I'm 'bout to get this shit sold, I want the green and wock cases
I'm 'bout to hop out in the field, let me tie my shoelaces
Money comin' in in bags, it's like a n***a printin' paper
'Bout to make some fake IDs, I need some ink and printing paper
Choke slam a n***a on his back and beat his ass like Undertaker
How you want it? I'll square up with a n***a and chase him down with a laser
[Interlude]
Alright, what the fuck was I 'bout to say again?
I keep forgettin' my bars
Alright, yeah, alright
I got it, I got it

[Verse 3]
I'll make a n***a beatbox, SpotGottem
Oh, you need some weed, drank, and Percs? Pull up, the spot got it
This n***a said he wanna drive the weed back, just lobby it
Remember bein' twenty deep in the hood just mobbin'
My lil' n***as be slidin' everyday while they dodgin'
When I get my foot in the industry, I'ma dominate
I got some indoor bowls for 23, but they half shake
Shot a n***a in his right arm, now he half bake
I got on Supreme and Louis V, the one collab they made
Every time a n***a tell a story, he over exaggerate
It's crazy, a n***a will run off over a lil' pape
But you know I ain't trippin' 'cause I still got a full plate
She asked for my number and I gave the bitch the full eight
Throw the Glock to my mans, he gon' pull that bitch like Clay
Think I need a money counter, I've been countin' shit all day
I done made at least five to ten racks in each state, count that up

[Outro]
I keep fuckin' forgettin' my bars
Punch me—, no, no, no, don't punch me in, man
Fuck this—, I'm leavin', I'm leavin', man
Fuck this
Alright, I'm 'bout to come out there