[Intro: Future & Booba]
Mothefucker, where’s my n***a?
Seated on a pile of moolah...
Booba, yeah my n***a!

[Chorus: Booba]
Always fresh, I stay on the surface
Like the ice cubes in my Chivas
It is not henna on my face
On the shore ready to kick ass
Got the AR, got the ski mask
Chain in G.O.L.D. on the primate
I'm the Stan Smith of Adidas
I'm reaching 300, Leonidas
Your life hangs by a phone call
Your hlel hangs by a dick stroke
Sergeant Kopp'zer in the cockpit
Too bling'zer for the metal detector

[Verse 1: Booba]
I'm on the web'zer, in the street
Married to la Haine like Bellucci
N***a, you're fake like your Gucci
I don't know what to wear anymore, I am too well off
I beg of you, walk on my Zanottis
This is the weight of weapons, not words, that weights me
It's not jerking off but the rocket that deafen you
What shitty brand is Matuidi wearing (That’s right)
Over here, by saying nothing, we said it all
Still live from the Mothership
One had Alzheimer's when one was questioned
When I'm thinking about you, I think missionary, not legionary
I'm in poster in your mother's room
In the police chief's office
I'm cocaine, you're sleeping pill
My God, how can so many fake n***as proliferate
I have the best flow of the universe
My Glock my first wife, thus I've left Lucifer
I win the lottery, smoking 20 joints
I travel pretty hard like a kilo in the pussy
When they interrogate me, the harki talks to three monkeys
I shoot in your larynx a bullet the size of a gnocchi
[Chorus: Booba]
Always fresh, I stay on the surface
Like the ice cubes in my Chivas
It is not henna on my face
On the shore ready to kick ass
Got the AR, got the ski mask
Chain in G.O.L.D. on the primate
I'm the Stan Smith of Adidas
I'm reaching 300, Leonidas
Your life hangs by a phone call
Your hlel hangs by a dick stroke
Sergeant Kopp'zer in the cockpit
Too bling'zer for the metal detector

[Verse 2: Future]
It's murder for hire
I put coke in the tires
I got dope on the flight
There’s birds on the Phantom
Burning money like Cam'ron
Coming straight out the gutter
Drinking that dirty Sprite syrup
I fuck all your kids and your mother
Me and young Booba, we bosses
Down in Miami we flossin'
I just be tripping with flavor
They call like, “Where is the sauce?”
I got a kilo and bought me a kilo
Tony Montana and I got the yayo
These bitches be loving a n***a for hitting a hater
Shit, these bitch ass n***as won’t let me have my moment
Knock and dodges to my enemy
Bagging up, selling these coca leaves
Then I go take me a shopping spree
I want a brand new AR with a 100-round drum on it
That money really make her cum, bitch
Then go put your tongue on it
That bitch really yours, n***a?
You better put alarm on it
I ain’t go to Harvard, n***a
That’s word to my momma, n***a
I put that presidential Rollie on that bitch
And then she mine, my n***a
I grind and I shine, my n***a
I ain't wasting no time, my n***a
I’m smashing your freak on the passenger seat
Shoot at you n***as, saying, “Fuck all the beef!”
I got ammo for days
Run around in the Caymans
Mac-11 in the Bentley
And I ride for my real n***as
Only God can judge me
When you live like a field n***a
When you don’t feel n***as
Sometimes you gotta kill n***as
[Outro: Future]
Word up to my motherfucking riders, ya heard me?
Everybody getting sprayed up right now
I can’t keep out these hoes at ease n***a
They might turn on me, mo'fucker
I’m ‘bout to got a blue story n***a
Shit ‘bout to get real uncomfortable for you n***as, ya heard?
Booba ! Belucci! Freebandz! Freebandz! Freebandz!
Wooh