[Intro]
(Yo, Pi'erre, you wanna come out here?)

[Verse 1: Finesse2tymes]
Two-hundred on me, fifty in these pockets, four pockets full
Gotta say I'm gangster, check my records, it's understood
Gotta say I'm mob, twist my fingers in every state
Gamble with your life, I got whatever out Section 8
Tell 'em folks this rapping shit don't work, then I'ma send a ho
Want ten or more, two types of exotic, told 'em send them both
B on the floor, I'm from Memphis, R.I.P. to Billy Boat
Wrestling with my freedom, now I got shit in a figure-four
Tappin' out, hold up, stop the beat, homie, I'm blackin' out
Security out on feet, Glock in my hand when I'm backin' out
Who crackin' now? This what happen every time they count me out
Free the guys, I'm eatin' good now, can't go back to chow

[Verse 2: Real Boston Richey]
I can't make no moves without my brother
N***as hating on the boys, said they rich, I'm 'bove 'em
I'm on some rockstar shit, fuck your daddy, fuck your mother
I'm tryna fuck on his lil' sister, not say I love her
I told you I was gon' get you back, that's a triple-double
Always been a freaky jit, tryna fuck my cousin under the cover
Slidin' in the Mustang, half a brick, I'm duckin' undercover
You know I been havin' shit, I ain't never been no fuckin' runner
Lil' bitch bad as Meagan Good, but Boston probably still gon' fuck her, she know I'm different
No switches with me, up in traffic, gotta move statistic
I'm always better but I don't rap with n***as, ain't politicking
How the fuck they say I'm gang? I'm cutthroat, n***a, I ain't friendly
Man, I'm tryna get in that splat, ooh, I heard that shit pacific
I don't want relations, I'm just tryna fuck to be specific
I can pull up in this—, snatch a bitch that's in a Bentley
Killers in the back, fuck the opps and whoever come with 'em
[Verse 3: Fridayy]
They wasn't with me
Back when I was driving in my '03
I was sitting on that bench, they wouldn't play me
Now I'm up on n***as like I'm KD
Hey, now I just shoot, shoot
Hey, I can't pass that rock, I gotta hoop, hoop
Hey, she love when I pull up in that brand new coupe
I don't know a thing she wouldn't do for me
I don't know a thing she wouldn't do for me
Hey, I don't know a thing she wouldn't do for me

[Verse 4: Lola Brooke]
Grrt
They can't get in without no wristbands, gang members is my big fans
Claim my season every shot, killin' 'em with Killa Cam
I don't know, man, stop askin' me all them dumb questions
Hittas go and dump questions, slide with it
Trigger finger on hold 'til my feelings get—
This that ready, set, here I come, grrt, grrt, go
I threw the pick and I don't get chose, get top, then he get low
If you ever have a problem, n***as, hollows what I—
Fuck good, bend backs, I'm every n***a's match
I step in and turn heads like, "Who the fuck is that?"
Ass naked on the balcony, I'm sorry and I'm sorry
Blocka, blocka, blocka, blocka, where the fuck is—
Huh, you know I got something to tell
Big Gator up on XXL
Put my problems in a blunt, I'ma spark them L's
Send shots to your mans while he pick up the shells, uh
You know I gotta keep it discreet
Don't wanna hear no feedback when I'm feedin' the streets, uh
Hit the gas, got my feet on the beats
Big Gator on the check-in and you're fuckin' with a G
Have to make your money moves, they don't tell nothing
Last year, was on them stand-by from them Zelle buttons
Uh, COVID days, can't smell nothing
I can sense a pussy-ass n***a, go and smell something