[Hook 1: Juelz Santana]
Don Q, where you at?
What it do, these rap n***as is wack
I want that old thing back
Yeah, I want that old thing back

[Verse 1: Don Q]
You now see, my style mean, I ain't into you
Seeing murders, fucked up my child's dreams
Got caught sleeping, n***a, I ain't on a Xanny
Crack come in, like candy
Cold in New York, got Miami on the bench
Brandy, and her best friend, Tammy, tryna get me
Run through that money, treat that shit like a marathon
Quit it with the happy talk, treat my luggage like a carry-on
Hit the club with my carats on
Make these hoes wanna come along
You ain't gotta act, it's real if I have it on
You be shitting on them with that X53
We had it in the streets, pull up with this Keef
I switch a check on the piece, n***a, I never sleep
30,000 for the Louis, never take a receipt
I'm a real Bronx n***a, west side to be exact
We ain't at the party, bring the party to where we at
I'ma pull up to the scene, in the 'Rari, with the strap
Smoking in the car, with a Barbie in the back
No shit, before rap, it was sell chips
On that road shit, til a n***a homesick
Remember back, I was in the trap, with the stove lit
Sellin crack to a fiend, so I could get my shit
[Hook 2: Don Q]
Santana, get back to the bandana
These rap n***as is wack
I want that old thing back
I want that old thing back
I want that old thing back

[Verse 2: Juelz Santana]
Santana, bandanna, back on TL
Too much sauce, too much swagger, might spill
Too much talk, the hawk, the Mac might drill
Big white Benz, looking like crack on wheels
All this ice on, I got chills
All these things got me flexin on them
Now I know how PopPop feels
Getting to the chicken, like a Popeyes meal
Connected everywhere, like I got a wifi deal
Gotta watch them n***as that's close to you
They the same ones riding in the Ghost with you
Hating on the low, thinking about ghosting you
Same ones that smoke with you, choke with you
I came to bring the pain (yeah), put n***as to shame
Simple and plain, they gon' remember my name
And it's all for respect, not fame
So don't play with me (don't!)
You could give 'em rope, they still can't hang with me (nope)
Pass the baton, they still can't race with me (nope!)
So far ahead of these n***as they still chasing me (still!)
I wouldn't be surprised
If n***as' ghostwriters got ghostwriters
Nothing cease to amazes you
Labels used to care, even though they was raping me (yup)
Now it's 360 deals, modern day slavery (true)
Fuck you, who payin' me? I'm the one recording
Won't settle for extortion or fame over fortune (never)
The game done changed, the sound done changed (changed)
All these n***as sound the same (sound the same)
The word "loyalty" don't even sound the same
Good thing I keep the pound
When it bang it always sound the same
I aim at the game, the real shall remain (that's real)
Neck full of water like I drowned my chain (my chain)
Flier than a n***a jumping out the plane (uh-huh)
Higher than you n***as, you can't find the strain (gelato)
Better than you n***as, that's without me saying (uh)
Treat the money like the work
We don't count, we weigh it (uh-huh)
For this amount we aim it (aim), blaze it (bang), flame it (bang)
Barrel big as a showerhead
You don't want me spraying (brrrrat!)
Enough with the mumbo-jumbo
Santana back though, can I get a drum roll? (brrrt!)
Whole lotta kush and it's stuffed in a fronto
Fiends still say my work taste like gumbo (mm!)
Yeah, bring that old thang back
I was taught to whip it up
And bring the whole thang back, rrrr!
When I was pumping coke, you was jumping rope
I was runnin' out of bags, you was playing tag (tag)
While you was hopscotching, I was drop-shopping (yeah)
At the dealer, paying cash for them paper tags (tags)
While you was pop-locking, I was Glock-popping (yeah)
Getting to the cash, brown paper bags (get money)
Blowing money fast and it never last (never)
Yeah, they make it fast, barely make it back (bitch)
Haters gonna suffer, I'm okay with that (okay with that)
All this garbage, time to throw away the trash (yup!)