[Intro]
Ah, let the thirty-day countdown begin, man
In the studio every motherfuckin' day
I told y'all, man, the hunger is real
Been doin' this shit too long, man
Seems I got to take these n***as to school
Eight albums, let's go

[Verse 1]
Luda, class is in session
For the little n***a from Atlanta with the light complexion
Steppin' on the track and (-) the verse
Puttin' rappers in a hearse, this my profession
I keep 'em guessin', don't nobody want to test them
If you don't want 'em up in your baby momma
Somebody better find a way to arrest him
You handcuff him, I dance, sucker
Keep that pussy to a pole, then I let my man fuck her
I'm gone, I'm trippin', I'm high of that medicine
Know that strong, that sticky, that critical condition
It's Lil' Fate, it's Luda and Drizzer down all together, man
Yeah, we smoke some buddha
Was cool, but now we feel better, man
I got hella game and hella dollars
Traded in that Range and just got three Impalas
Rollin' like a G and bendin' corners on Ds
Steady countin' Ms with bank accounts overseas
Splittin' open Bs and droppin' the top on Vs
Other rappers countin' Zs, but they bitches pop them Ps
[Outro]
Ah, pop it, pop it, pop it
Oh, man, I'm havin' too much fuckin' fun, man
Ludaversal March 31
I'm a drill it into your head until you doze the fuck off, man
Let's go, movie comin' the same week
Yeah, and just wait for it