[Intro]
(You're not making this easy, Kyle)

[Verse 1: TrDee]
If this shit was easy, everybody’ll rich
It don't matter what I do, I cannot get her off my dick
I'm sick as hell you switching teams, on some James Harden shit
Bro, you bet not try to check me ’cause you can't guard me
You can't fuck with my team, you ball like it's 2K
Shit, I'm higher than the mountains, riding 'round in the bay
She gon' pop up like a quiz, I can't show her where I stay
Like a third string quarterback, n***a, I don’t play

[Verse 2: BabyTron]
What I’m pouring in my pop is lavender, you sipping eucalyptus
I'm flying through the trenches, feel like Franklin, finna do a mission
You see this gun? I’m finna shoot you with it
I was doing fraud, you was in the kitchen doing dishes
I was in the street, you was on thе— (Man)
I was in the street, you was on the porch
I was in the street, you was contеmplating on the steps
Don't be a dummy, put yo money on the best
Don't be a dummy, put yo money on the vets

[Verse 3: TrDee]
Don't be a dummy tryna ball with superstars
Pull up in a two-seater, Chally super charged
Shitting on ’em like a toilet or a shooting guard
Finna get the bag on like Santa Clause
I'm just tryna catch a opp and send him bullets, Randy Moss
I'm just tryna get the cheese like they put it on a trap
Boy, I'm from the Murder Mitt, where you'll lick if you lack, no cap
I don't correlate with n***as 'less you DSM
Walking out the store with two fifties like a quarter M
N***as hate to see you shining brighter, rather see you dim
Bitch was bad before but now she not, she just like Lil Kim
7.62s left him hurt just like the [?] curse
All she got is pussy, not a single dollar in her purse
Money long, it was short like Lil Uzi Vert
I done hit this bitch from every angle, now she call me "Kurt"
[Verse 4: BabyTron]
Pop out with some big shit, catch me shooting Deagles
Out in traffic, you can't tell it's me, I'm in a Buick Regal
Talking 'bout he got a scam bible? I hate stupid people
He an agent on the low, I call him "Cody Banks"
Tick-tock-tick-tock, bitch, yo Rollie fake
Fit a eight into a twenty-four and do the Kobe fade
Celine slippers in the crib, this a cozy day
Get it for the low then sell it top dollar
Drop his dawg without even touching him like a shock collar
Let this bullet knock you out, we are not squashers
Shoes with the spikes on these hoes, this is not soccer
Bitch, the soda cost a rack
Feel like Central Cee, blowing doja in the 'Cat
Same thang, shit, a cobra and a rat
Automatic pump stretch him out like yoga on a mat

[Outro: BabyTron]
Fuck, shit
(Shit, fuck, shit)