[Produced by Meechie Einstein]

[Verse 1: Sam King]

Today I woke on my own

Work on my own

Who chirping my phone

Oh you need to fix

Parfait my wrist

Vegas ain't that, Vegas is this

And you get dismissed when you hit this strip

Couldn't take this dab, couldn't take this drip

Couldn't open my zip, couldn't roll my blunt

You ain't no king, don't recognize ya

Better recognize real when it gets this close, I'm right in front you
It's SK 3­4 , you know you 1­2

Suburban trappin , And I can Front You

The Week is heavy, said what the fuck you gone do

Stand up on my own Two

Manifest This Now Many Festivals

Slanging this Mountain

Just tryna Rock

Shot to your Boulder

Leave you In Pebbles

My hat is red not a Blood Just a Rebel

And I'm running , Are you coming

Don't be mad when you get left

This is real Hip Hop who you Tryna Impress
Doing my dance but it look like a bench Press


[Hook/Chorus]

Hope that money where yo mouth is when i confront you

This shit right here not for the low but I can front you

Should be worried bout your money, till then i confront you

I'm out here trappin' often, put that shit right NFRNTCHU


[Verse 2: Sir Michael Rocks]

I wake up round 12 and feed my motherfuckin' monkey

I'm wrappin' up and shippin' them P's all the way cross the country

Tuna rolls and spider rolls i'm invitin' hoes to my sushi spot

Couple bougie THOTs, man my heart is cold the jacuzzi's hot

Got a choke up hold with the uzi cocked?
When my birds in the air like a plasma

Pushin' these pussys into the miasma faster

Lotta n***as comin' with me wherever I go

Where the fuck were n***as when i was livin' in Chicago

Dyin' in Chicago, hand on the rifle

Day you was born you were dead upon arrival

Spent all my money tryna sue this n***a

But what i really should have did is shoot this n***a

Would've cost me less to just pay my bail

It'll be a ice cold day in hell, before i take another n***a into federal court, Fuck that

I stay shipping' those cell phones, my homie stay with them pros

When I say we ordering J's, I ain't talkin bout no shoes


[Hook/Chorus]


[Verse 3: Curtis Willams]

Young rich negro, got a stylist name Nego

I keep kush so we can blaze, I'm passin' blunts to my people

First I got a little, then i went and got a lot

Bust it down and roll it, you pussys still tryna plot

Closet worth a check, and i ain't worried 'bout sucka n***as

I just want the bread so we can flex

I'm rarely every sober

Got a pocket full of blunts and bitch im still rollin

Can't fold it, fuck you n***a we blow it

White lines in the morning

She need this shit like some Folgers

Whiskey in the booth, bitch i'm getting tipsy

And i'm still drinkin'

MOney over everything

Money on the flo'

N***as talkin' shit, i'll have them n***as at yo do'

We want everything, everything gold

Getting new money but my money old


[Hook/Chorus]