[Intro]
Dolan on the keyboard
This is a Dolan Beats Production

[Chorus: Chief Keef]
Blunt full of dead oppers
National Guards can't stop us
Paranoid tell me who knocking
Looking on the camera tryna see who's plotting on me
Only been a day but I took two trips
Bought a five-seven and it came with three clips
Pinky rings on me like I won three ships (yes it is, yeah)
Two fifties I'm one hundred
Feeling like a champion
Run it up get my stampede on (yes I is)
I'm feeling like Rick-Flair
Don't want it if it don't got stairs
Talk that shit get aired

[Verse 1: Chief Keef]
Well look who it is , got Obama on my wrist
Got money to get, no time for your bitch
Doing straight physicals, no time for a diss
And the thing on my wrist, like a bucket of piss
Rolled down on a hoe, get up in the ship
So motherfucking sharp, might cut me a bitch
On top of the foreign, about to take me a pic
Just pulled to the crib, about to take me a bitch
Grandma used to be like, "Where'd you get that money?"
She seen me up running it, with shit that they come and get
Now it's diamonds on the cross, feeling so fucking boss
Might buy me a vault, just tell me the cost
House so far out, you gone tell me you lost
All these sticks, we can stampede the law (yeah, yeah)
All this ice I can make me a rink
All this gold I can make me a sea
All this surf I can make me a beach (yeah, yeah)
Just to sleep it's gone take me a week
You slipping I'll take me a three
Folks had that K in his briefs
[Chorus: Chief Keef]
Blunt full of dead oppers
National Guards can't stop us
Paranoid tell me who knocking
Looking on the camera tryna see who's plotting on me
Only been a day but I took two trips
Bought a five-seven and it came with three clips
Pinky rings on me like I won three ships (yes it is, yeah)
Two fifties I'm one hundred
Feeling like a champion
Run it up get my stampede on (yes I is)
I'm feeling like Rick-Flair
Don't want it if it don't got stairs
Talk that shit get aired

[Verse 2: Fredo Santana]
Colling at the top, smoking dope, I'm just laughing
Let me see a opp, he get smoked, I'm gone whack him
Thought he wanted smoke shit, now he in a casket
The way I stretch this work
You would thought it was gymnastics
Bought a new crib, and that was off my last flip
Hard on these hoes, you can ask my last bitch
Me and Sosa, getting money, blue hunnids
Shitting, diarrhea, loose stomach
Diamonds so sick it'll make a n***a vomit
DooWop in the cut and he gone hit you with that Tommy
I'm really with this shit, it ain't nothing to catch a body
Strapped up, every time I hit the party
Weed so strong man it got a n***a coughing
Gun so long I'm like get up in this coffin
Shoot-outs broad day, man I do that very often (what?)
Real street n***a, I'll slap a n***a momma
[Chorus: Chief Keef]
Blunt full of dead oppers
National Guards can't stop us
Paranoid tell me who knocking
Looking on the camera tryna see who's plotting on me
Only been a day but I took two trips
Bought a five-seven and it came with three clips
Pinky rings on me like I won three ships (yes it is, yeah)
Two fifties I'm one hundred
Feeling like a champion
Run it up get my stampede on (yes I is)
I'm feeling like Rick-Flair
Don't want it if it don't got stairs
Talk that shit get aired