[Intro: Los]
Yeah
If this rap shit don't work, know we still gon' get rich
N***a, yeah
Yeah, yeah, n***a, yeah
Pussy-ass n***as, ain't got no love for 'em

[Verse 1: Los]
If this rap shit don't work, just know we still was gon' get rich
Daisy hot, we burnt it out, made they ass drive to Flint
Take a chunk out, Los, had a talk with myself
How you learn to sell dope? Yeah, I taught myself

[Verse 2: Rio Da Yung OG]
I can middleman a brick or sell it myself
Don't need nobody in the whip, I won't tell on myself
He tryna short me two zips when he scale it myself
I took an extra nine-piece, I'm scared of myself

[Verse 3: RMC Mike]
They say the dog barkin' hard, this shit strong as hell
I got a play for five hundred, Los, let me hold the scale
Nutty pulled up with a pint, fuck it, bro, pour a twelve
Package touched down by six, I had it gone by twelve

[Verse 4: WB Nutty]
I'll take a bullshit setup and I'll squeeze some thousands out it
I came up shortstoppin', McDonalds, Coney Island
Trailer park, hotel, Tennessee, in the mountains
N***a, all the pills fake, I'm pullin' off before they count it, n***a
[Verse 5: Los]
We ain't sellin' n***as shit, yeah, we got it all
Yeah, the rap money cool, but it ain't like the dog
Pittsburgh for ninety-eight, a hundred thou', then switch states
Fifty-thousand for a mixtape
Pussy-ass n***as, ain't got no love for 'em

[Verse 6: RMC Mike]
Head pulled up with some blues and spent a thousand dollars
I put my extra tax on it when I'm out by the mountains
Thirty bands in all dubs, it's kinda hard to count it
The plug still showin' love, I told him large amount me
Gave unc' a free gram, didn't even charge him for it
Bitch, I'm sellin' bulldogs when I touch down in Georgia
Yeah, we lucked up, made a hit just fuck around recordin'
Bro ran out of Techy, I got six lines of Morton

[Verse 7: WB Nutty]
Boy, I done lived with snorters
I don't do court-appointeds (At all)
Whole sack gone by the morning
What, you ain't know I'm hands-on?
Boy, I get tan gone, you need to put your mans on
Hit him with a half or somethin'
That's why them hoes laughin' at you
[Verse 8: Rio Da Yung OG]
I'm hot as hell, ridin' with a credit card embosser
A brick press, two ARs, and a pound in quarters
I could've served you right here, but meet me 'round the corner
Mixin' 5.56s with .223s, that PLR distorted
I hit the dope twice 'fore he bought it and still tried to tax him
I been cookin' dope all day, that's why my hands ashy
Twenty racks bulgin' out my pants, I ain't tryna flash 'em
Shot a n***a walkin' out of Saks, he got popped in fashion

[Outro: Los]
N***a