Chorus:
*(TEC)
We be tryna run it up, get that bag full
Still them n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
N***a still ain't got it all wish we had more
Still these n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
(Tell me what they mad for)
*(Maine)
Prolly cause they mad poor
(Tell me what they mad for)
Cause we up like check the score
(N***a what you mad for)
In the industry kicked the door
(Tell me what they mad for)
100 bands on the floor

Verse 1: (Maine Musik)
Guess you want all this money and power, jealousy ain't gonna get it
They envy and acting like women, they want my position they notice I'm winning
The money was making them fall in they feelings, I stack it and let the shit fall from the ceiling
(?) when clapping the glizzy, I ain't gonna miss cause i shoot with precision, whoa
Real diamonds on me water keep glistening
Rod on me like its time to go fishing
And I fuck with Detroit not a fan of the Pistons
I do this for Dex and that choppa come in it like, whoa
I'm kicking the doe, they dont gotta open it, they know im totin it
Focusing on bringing bags home, and I let the stick blow like a saxophone
I love lil Luwop that my back bone, tried to run off and now all his back gone
Run a bag up a day off a trac phone, out of town with a check now I'm back home like, aye
We just tryna run them bands up, for I go broke I'll go rob n***a
Put yo hands up
Chorus:
*(TEC)
We be tryna run it up, get that bag full
Still them n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
N***a still ain't got it all wish we had more
Still these n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
(Tell me what they mad for)
*(Maine)
Prolly cause they mad poor
(Tell me what they mad for)
Cause we up like check the score
(N***a what you mad for)
In the industry kicked the door
(Tell me what they mad for)
100 bands on the floor

Verse 2: (TEC)
We be servin from north to the south
Ain't with that dissing like Gotti and Dolph
Bitch say my name and I'm knockin em off
Say Green put a whole in one like we playing golf
The race thats what we finessin for
Up on them bitches like check the score
Loui on me like a checker board
Throwing money, dog, my whole section full
Now flex on them bitches in balmains
Countin up, I had to call Maine
I be shitting on em, its a ball game
Ain't in a foreign get out our lane like, skrrrt
I pull on the curb with the top off to make sure they see me in it
They watching that bitch like a tv in it, gold spider chain with the figi in it
If they see me with it, just know that I went took it I ain't ask for it
And all this designer real I went to Sak's for it
Police ass n***a, like martin off of Bad Boy
I alley oop to Meezi and he just caught it off the backboard
Chorus:
*(TEC)
We be tryna run it up, get that bag full
Still them n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
N***a still ain't got it all wish we had more
Still these n***as hatin, what the fuck they mad for
(Tell me what they mad for)
*(Maine)
Prolly cause they mad poor
(Tell me what they mad for)
Cause we up like check the score
(N***a what you mad for)
In the industry kicked the door
(Tell me what they mad for)
100 bands on the floor