[Intro: Drake & The London Bulgarian Choir]
Дей, гиди, пушка-бойл—
Let's go
Well, alright
Well, alright
Yeah
Look, uh

[Verse: Drake]
Feelin' sorry for the runner-up
I'm still awake, gettin' money when the sun is up
And they keep sayin' how they need me to deliver
'Cause they hate it when a rookie star doesn't put the numbers up
Man, hate is so passé, catch me in a Tom Ford suit on draft day, n***a
And it's just me and my money
Y'all don't even get to play when y'all are leading by twenty
Yeah, I infiltrated the game
I was hesitant at first and feared what it would change
Now I'm high off the success and faded off of the fame
And still I managed to keep all of my opinions the same
Man, I am so far gone, bitch, I'm outta here
Hotter than standin' inside rockin' outerwear
I want it all, man, I never learned how to share
I also can no longer converse with you thousandaires
Wow, I swear I'm killin' shit, I'm killin' shit
Shout-out to the n***as I just made a couple million with
Yeah, from the beginnin' to the end
Know I'm into makin' history, not into makin' friends, motherfucker