[Intro]
I got Christian on, she got Christian on, but we sinnin'
I got two styrofoams, but you can't tell what's in 'em
Can't no opps call my phone 'cause they know I stand on business
Me and broke hoes don't get along, kick her with the quickness
Ima get a billion out this shit then split it with my n***as
All my n***as— all my n***as— all my n***as— all my n***as—
(RJ Lamont)
This what we doin'?
(Rell On The Track)
Dame, where the tape at?

[Chorus]
Pink fifties, blue hundreds, I'm fuckin' up all this money
Maybach, Benz, I'm stuntin', my wrist lookin' like a hundred
My bitch lookin' like a Barbie, my n***a lookin' like a hunter
That chop sound like some thunder, I come through, drop a hundred
My bitch hair is thirty inches, my nеw Glock got thirty in it
Boy, we dizzy 'cause we spinnin', I got FN, bro got FN, guеss we twinnin'
I got Christian on, she got Christian on, but we sinnin'
I got two styrofoams, but you can't tell what's in 'em


[Verse 1]
Can't no opps call my phone 'cause they know I stand on business
Me and broke hoes don't get along, kick her with the quickness
I'ma get a billion out this shit then split it with my n***as
I'ma go and buy a hundred grams, make a quarter chicken
You keep postin' throwback Thursday pictures, boy, that's past-tense
Stood off with that n***a so I could see him take his last breath
You can get a bag if I can pull you up on MapQuest
Brand-new foreign for the four, Gucci t-shirts, Gucci drawers
You n***as still wearin' [?][1:16] from the mall
If I don't do shit in this life, I'ma ball
Boy, this some Tris, I don't sip Incredible Hulk
I barely wanna mix it, I be tryna sip it raw
I fucked her with a condom, she be tryna slip it off
You say you want some smoke, fuck it, I'ma kick it off
At work, before you was gettin' off, I was gettin' off
Don't come to me with worker business, n***a, I'm a boss
The one I'm cut from, they don't even make that cloth
You can get fucked up in the field like lacrosse
In these streets, gotta look both ways 'fore you cross
And, even though you wear a cross, you'll still get crossed
Walked off on my ex-bitch, I know she still pissed off
I put a bag on you, get the tag ripped off
[Chorus]
Pink fifties, blue hundreds, I'm fuckin' up all this money
Maybach, Benz, I'm stuntin', my wrist lookin' like a hundred
My bitch lookin' like a Barbie, my n***a lookin' like a hunter
That chop sound like some thunder, I come through, drop a hundred
My bitch hair is thirty inches, my new Glock got thirty in it
Boy, we dizzy 'cause we spinnin', I got FN, bro got FN, guess we twinnin'
I got Christian on, she got Christian on, but we sinnin'
I got two styrofoams, but you can't tell what's in 'em

[Verse 2]
Me and broke hoes don't get along, kick her with the quickness
Me and y'all n***as ain't the same, n***a, it's a difference
Don't worry 'bout who I'm fuckin', bitch, mind your business
Ridin' 'round in a chicken coop, but I ain't got no chickens
She can't say she one of my hoes, she don't got no edges
Make bro go up top on you and get him a presi'
My bitch a gift from God, that's my greatest present

[Outro]
You wanna know what the problem is right now?
Y'all n***as scared to be y'all self
Copy-and-paste-ass rappers