[Part I: Dollaz and Sense]

[Verse 1: Problem]
N***a, I'm from Compton, what up Quik? You my n***a, bro
Doin' 80 up Figuero', condition is critical
I can't get caught slippin'
By my foes or the po's, boy I've been sippin'
Shoutout to my n***a Villain nana crippin' even on cell day
Big Nick, Ludolph, Bird Nose, and LJ
Dice games on a 102nd and Main
I lose I hit [?], come back, then try to crack 'em again
Way before I hit the traffickin' game
Nowadays I'm just traffickin' game, you better get some
Get out the way 'fore I hit somethin', erhhh, pop
I love drivin' bitch n***as crazy
Eat a bowl of shit 'fore a bitch n***a play me
Ballin', bitch try to play me
Kobe, KDs are laced up, in the club Aced up
Tatted from the waist up, fuck like a straight slut
Nah-ah-ah-ah-ah, that's for real
And ho I don't need a pill
Independent gettin' skrilla, I don't need a deal
Bank'll kill at will, two sec, need Benadryl
And a n***a been this ill for a long time
You pussies want a problem, get in that long line
Yeah, that long line, yeah, yeah, a long line
Run it wrong, you'll be done in six seconds, no Vine
Tell your ho to come over, she'll be there in no time
Like she watchless, it's Showtime, ho watch this
If I call you for me to come over I'm coming to stick
Chopsticks, pull it out she lock lips
Yeah, let me hit it bare then I might get her some head
Lick her for some paper, I'mma do it like a dare
Diamond Lane the Gang, and I bang it like a snare
On God, bow down to no man
I'm a bar, no Rosanne, El Segando to Rosecrans
Reppin', Westside steppin'
Eastside mind state with three K's, Andre
I'm an outcast, honey mmm in the house stash
We'll just take you out for the right cash
And I ain't talkin' 'bout no date
Birthday love cakes as much as Boog loves Satan
You got served, in every way possible
Shit get hostile, I get colder than a hospital
So don't be bangin' under false pretense
‘Cause if it don't make dollars, it don't make sense, boy!
[Hook: DJ Quik, (Problem) & (Childish Gambino)]
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (Yeah)
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence (What?)
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence (‘Cause I ain't playin' with your punk ass, boy)
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (Diamond Lane, Money Gang, everything we run it)
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (What up, Problem?)
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince (What?)

[Verse 2: Childish Gambino]
Now look who came up in this bitch
Mister look like shit, but I know he rich
Get at me, I thought you mothafuckas be happy
But they not ‘cause they took a back seat like a taxi
I'm a latch key kid, home alone so often
But I had to come back to my Cali like Culkin
I was born out here, then I moved out there
N***a check my core, man, this shit ain't fair
I got a track with Alley Boy, Fredo, and Problem
So you know I'm in the hood just like I'm a cobra
Python, check the app, I'm hangin' with coders
Man that 'Bino goin' off, I thought that I told you
Before the [?] closed and the Crenshaw Mall
I used to date this fly girl with a place in the Dons
We used to cruise Leimert Park in a Beamer
Love a Cali girl so much, have you seen her?
Shout out to Latinas, look at all these hynas
'Bino is the highest, n***as know I'm childish
I be on that Y shit, and she down to roll
Ate her pussy like a sachi teriyaki bowl
Ayo, Problem? (What up?) This a diss track right? (Go ahead)
Fuck you, fuck you - you're cool - you can't rap
You need help, you all industry hype
Most of these n***as aight, none of 'em holdin' a light to me
Wearin' some wifer tees, like it was '93
After the riots, n***as is violent
Sprayed the llama, took the L shit, wasn't silent, though
Middle finger crossed up, n***as now you know, for real
[Hook: DJ Quik & (Problem)]
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (Gambino)
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence (Yeah)
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense ([?] night with real men, for real)
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (‘Cause if it don't make dollars it don't make sense)
So don't kill game, let the pimpin' commence
If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense (Compton, California, that's where I'm from)
Because you gotta give it up to the crown prince (Diamond!)

[Interlude: Bad Lucc]
Ayo, Justin Credible, what the deal?
You know it wouldn't have been the same without Bad Lucc up in this thing [?] like that
You know what I'm talking 'bout?
Diamond Lane up in this thing
If Diamond Lane's in this thing, you know LA's up in this thing
And if LA's up in this thing then you know the LA Leakers up in this thing
We about to turn up real quick, ayo, Prob!
Show 'em what that jump off mix do, the Diamond Lane way
You dig me? Yeah

[Part II: 0 to 100]

[Verse: Problem]
Come through high, stepping like a kappa n***a
Run the race, [?] Obama 'bout to lap a n***a
I don't talk, kill beef before it happen, n***a
Think we second place by the way we coming after n***as
Up, down, closed fists like we 'bout to dap a n***a
Bro, don't shake my hand, don't try to dap a n***a
Me and Luccy lavish, n***a
It's funny how the vets wait till you get the mail before they stop a n***a
Huh, kind of crazy, right? (Yeah)
Blowing cool J's, yeah, I'm with the ladies like (Yeah)
A n***a matching head to toe, I'm the 80's type
I hid my safe, it seen more scratches than when ladies fight
Betty Wright, just (N***a just), oh my God, I'm fucking focused
Rid the ground of Batman and start dealing with these jokers
Got bitches (Got bitches), got a thousand on the sofas
But they better watch they steps, spent 2,000 on these loafers
I ain't playin' (I ain't playin'), I done been took the jersey off
Me and [?] ducking TMZ, scurry off
D Kev, Retro 11's
Cashed out on "Like What," got it patented, no leather
Outside my boy, Lucc, ain't another n***a better
And I'm gunnin' at a blue, sharper 9, sharper [?]
Diamond Lane, came from nothing, Hell yeah, I'm livin' proof
Hundred twenty-five inches worth of TV in my room
Picture clear (Picture clear), birdy told me let y'all have it
Now I'm busting, pretty lady, get that towel from out the cabinet
Wipe me down (Wipe me down), wipe me down, wipe me down
God done gave me the will, who the fuck can stop me now?
Run 'em over (Run 'em over), grab a spatula, leave him flat
I don't give a fuck, n***as shouldn't have stepped on the track
Anyway, delay, one lane, no delayin'
Court side with a basketball n***a's boot thing
True story (That's real, n***a)
[Outro: Problem & Justin Credible]
Yeah
Diamond Lane, Problem, Bad Lucc, cash in
We comin'
OK, you see what it is, man
LA Leakers, Justin Credible, Fuzz Fantab, DJ Sourmilk, man
Along with the homie, Problem
Whoa, it's about to be a 3, 5, 4, lift off
Let's turn it up, man
LA, let's show 'em how we do, baby, LA Leakers