[Interlude: Pharrell Williams]
The pinks is real! yellows is real!
The whites is clean, y'know what I'm sayin'?
The blues is monster
I mean, it's... the Laffy Taffy chain, hahaha
Y'know what I'm sayin'?
When I rock it, start laughin'
Hahaha

[Intro: Pharrell Williams, DJ Drama & DJ drops]
In My Mind's coming soon
It's so real
But in the meantime, we have some other shit to handle
So real (The Aphilliates, n***a, pay attention!)
This the music for the—
Skateboard P been paying a lot of dues (Dr— Dr— Dr—)
So real
And I don't know if y'all n***as been paying attention
It's so real (Dr— Dr— Dr—)
Well, if not, this what I'ma do for 'em
This that music for the— (Dramatic!)
Yeah
DJ Drama, AMG
This that music for the— (Gangsta!)
Star Trak!
Yeah
Ill! (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
[Verse 1: Pharell Williams (false starts): Pharrell & DJ drops]
This that music for the most realest, blow dealers
Who by the way are Mo' spillers
Surrounded by go-rillas, yeah
It's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die"
From Virginia, AKA "Hustler's Paradise" (Dramatic, n***a!)
Yeah, it's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die"
Yeah, it's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die" (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)

[Verse 1: Pharrell Williams & DJ drops]
—the most realest, blow dealers
Who, by the way, are Mo' spillers
Surrounded by go-rillas, yeah (Gangsta!)
It's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die"
From Virginia, AKA "Hustler's Paradise"
But don't get it twisted, they be kidnapping guys
Caught you slippin' your fault, the unmastered eye
The only math-ma-tic is drug traff-a-ic
Get it cook it cut it n***a then wrap it quick
Get yourself a white one, get your man a matching 6
The whiteys call him "hip-hop," but they can't rap a lick
N***as tryna case 'em, the Feds is tryna chase 'em
But they got it all designed like the mind of a Mason
Fresh Ice Creams, I know you ain't plan to fall
Turn that white tee red like Santa Claus
It's almost sacrilegious, the way they practice business (Gangsta!)
We call it package-risen the way that drug wakes up the dead
Just for sports cars, it's lipstick-red
On chrome deep-dishes; the face of the rim is red like Swedish Fishes
Put the car and the rims together and get the sweetest kisses
Clear your head for a second, leave the weed restricted
I know you think I'm rapping fly, but I know n***as that rap and fly
While I rap in fly jets, banging that "Trap or Die"
I'm a great rapper, right?
[Interlude: Young Dro & DJ Drama]
Yeah, yeah (Young Dro), yeah, yeah
Shout to Grand Hustle!
For real, fuck with me
My n***a, Young Dro!
Young Dro, check this
Talk to 'em!

[Verse 2: Young Dro, DJ Drama & DJ drops]
Young Dro, ayy, I could turn time a day back (Gangsta)
June the First (What?), I could whip up and bring May back (Oh!)
Play that, I am a Yugoslavian killer
German bricks: I am a Yugoslavian dealer (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
Painkiller, blue-green Chevy, Navy Seal, marine-ready
Dope same color spaghetti—you know, off-white, noodle yay'
Flying Spur, super great
Forty-five caliber to your chest, super-pray (Hard)
Fruit whips, deuce-trey, 'bout to blow my roof away (Get 'em)
Japanese torpedo (Choing-yoing), 'bout to blow your coupe away (Ah)
I hustle where I used to stay

[Break: Young Dro]
Nah, I ain't gon' tell em all that
(Nah, nah, slow down, shawty, slow down, son)
I'ma stop right here, and I'ma come back here, like, here
Ayy, look, ayy (Dr— Dr— Dramatic!)
[Verse 2 (Continued): Young Dro, T.I. & DJ drops]
Ayy, ice-white grape, white-grape Jays (Okay)
Light-grey yay', tote twice AK's (Blaow, blaow)
Dice for eight days (Yes), ocean-black waves (Yes)
Ocean-green Jaguar (Yes), total-black 'yays (Yes)
Tote a black gauge (AP), Benz Four-Door Class 8 (Yuh)
Mercedes 900, n***a, fuck a 500
Big rocks in my ear—look like a muscadine, don’t it?
Oh, that rhyme don't it? (Yes!) Gotta believe us
'Frigerator rocks, I was born in the freezer (Brrr-r-r)
Ayy, I was born in the freezer (Gangsta!)
(Hold up, man, what's up, y'all?)

[Verse 3: T.I. & DJ drops]
N***a, my pistol fully loaded, and my cheese in stacks
You can keep the baking soda—ain't no need for that (Gangsta!)
Cook crack, money fast, off-white money long
We ball in Bowen Homes 'til all the money gone (Ayy!)
Forty-cal' leave you numb like you bumped your funny bone
What the fuck you laughing for? Ain't a damn thing funny, homes (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!)
Live the dangerous life, I could show you the skull and bones
Smooth as Frank Sinatra, but gangster like Al Capone
It's well-known where we from and all the shit that we done
Whether we proud of it or not, speaking loud of it or not (Dr— Dr— Dramatic!)
I take a scoop out the block and then drop it into the pot
Distribute it to the block—it's easy, believe it or not
N***as come all shapes and sizes, but pistols even 'em out
It's plain to see he was shot, but nobody speaking to cops
He seized, the gun dropped, they squeeze and none stopped
I miss them, double back, and kill them all in one wop, n***a

[Outro: T.I. & DJ Drama]
Simple as that, man
Now that's what quality street music's supposed to sound like!
Ain't nothing to it in the hood
You never there; we there often
DJ Drama!
Dro, P, let's get it!
Oh! Ayy!