[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell a hater I said)
Fuck you, fuck you (Pussy)
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell your bitch I said)

[Verse 1: Yo Gotti]
Me
Ass up, face down
One night only, I'm from out of town
Pound, new rules, we ain't waiting on it
And if that pussy good, we spend cake on it
Plane ticket, hotel, new bag, new Chanel
Giuseppe sneakers, his and hers
If you a hater, I just got two words

[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell a hater I said)
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (And tell your bitch I said)

[Verse 2: Yo Gotti]
You, and the bitches that you came with
All in my section drinking my shit
You ain't fucking, you ain't sucking, what you doing, ho?
Instagram and taking pictures, but you don't know me, though
Damn, she said that she a fan
Yeah, I understand, but I want to get in her pants
'Cause she thick as fuck and she sticking her tongue out
She said she don't fuck with rappers
And I'm like, "what you talking about, bitch?"
[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (I got two words for you)
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell a hater I said)

[Verse 3: Meek Mill]
Oh, I said fuck ‘em
I don’t like 'em, I don’t love 'em
When the money come
Homies turn to haters, I don’t trust 'em
If the brick ain’t coming with a stamp, I don’t touch it
I want that BMF with the Scorpio when I’m bustin'
Like a bitch when she twerkin’, y'all n***as workin'
Clown-ass n***as, we should put you in the circus
In the cage with the lion, let him have you for dessert
And testifying on your homie, took a deal, but was it worth it, n***a?
I met this bitch, she said “my friend, she want to fuck you"
I like your friend, but really, though, I wanna fuck you
And if I get my roadie, though, he gotta to fuck too
Now put your middle fingers up and scream

[Verse 4: Yo Gotti]
Haters, n***a mad at the paper
Big crib, ten cars, twenty acres
Twenty chains, ten watches, I'm a jewler
Lil’ watch with the jest, don’t let it fool you
I could school you on how to look like money
Hustler of the year, could write a book ‘bout money
Don’t pop them bottles tryna impress them hoes
With your re-up money better tell them hoes, bitch
[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell a bitch I said)
Fuck you, fuck you
Fuck you, fuck you (Tell a hater I said)