[Intro: Pharrell]
Yeah, uh-huh
I know how hustlers think, man
I grew up 'round them n***as
Check it... aiyyo –

[Verse 1: Pharrell]
We coupe hoppers, twenty-in-a-group shoppers
Don't look at the watch unless you got blue blockers
BBC boat-wear, n***as is true yachters
I got an MBA in how-to-ball
Surrounded by n***as that sell more powder than y'all
Standing like statues and they proud when they fall
Til then, they selling dope 'round the calen–dar
They pull a hundred grand up to valet at the mall
Walking slow, like it's a Hype Williams video
Jacob's well paid, they ears got a crispy glow
Face like, "Fuck the world, give me hoes"
So you racking up on everything with pretty toes
And fresh BAPEs, looking like colored chalk and
Fat ass, bow-legged, like she just started walking
Pass it your man, so he can get the number
Once she says her name and where the fuck she come from
She got hope in her eyes, like she wanna go far
Like Hollywood somewhere, but your chain got the stars
You walk in with the His, she trying Her's
She's dying of thirst, you nice with the words
She's fine with the work, so you buying the furs
When you get outside, the bitch died, the Flying Spur
Bentley four-doors from the corridors
From your young stunnas, they your couriers
Later on, you think of them, when you toast in the VIP
Gun on the hip, just in case a n***a set trip
[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what the dope men used to say
Bringing cocaine in the jam
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what all the dope men say
Bringing cocaine in the jam

[Verse 2: Pusha T]
Twenty-two n***as, two to a car
Eleven flagships with the three-point star
The only other ballers is them three-point stars
We only 5'9", they think we point guards, ha
No jumper, still at the top of the key
No wonder, they thought we was shooting them threes
Throw numbers, sell it for the deuce and the three
Like Air Jordan, it's all in the wrist, turning keys
Your modern day Chardonnay sippers
We throwin' up our middles, screaming "Fuck them other n***as"
We spit it out, like '94 Diddy on them n***as
Ain't worried 'bout the cost, we know the hoes is countin' figures
The games of the rich kids, we know what the tricks is
We turn our backs, so we can fuck each other's bitches
The lifestyle of the rich and right now
Any Given Sunday in the kitchen, white clouds―Poof!
[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what the dope men used to say
Bringing cocaine in the jam
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what all the dope men say
Bringing cocaine in the jam

[Verse 3: Malice]
I lean like the tower, balancing the 'caine
Never thought I'd ever have to touch this residue again
Me being me, don't even count it as a shame
I'm the Clipse, I done been learned to dance when it rain
Like the Gospel song, "I Won't Complain"
But I won't watch n***as cash in on my pain
Not Jessie grandson, every gram slung
A testament to my momma's tears, losing her first son
Wanna know the real? Coke never been the deal
Never glorified that, just the character it built
The game's real and you find out quick
When you want the Bentley, the Porsche ain't shit
Not a chain from Jacob, what I need is a wake up
And this pain my heart got the weight of an anchor
And still, I thank the good Lord for health
And the peace that you get when you right with yourself
[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what the dope men used to say
Bringing cocaine in the jam
"Come go with me –
I make you feel right"
That's what all the dope men say
Bringing cocaine in the jam