[Intro: DJ drops]
Get familiar!

[Verse 1: Ab-Liva & DJ drops]
I’m privy to the fact of the matter
That I shatter all records for the new king, pardon as I catapult (Yeah)
Fly high, Earl Manigault
Still in the kitchen with my fingers in the batter, y’all (Clinton— Clinton— Clinton Sparks!)
The magic man, turn soft to hard
Turn four into six, n***a, chart my odds
If he caught with that hard, it’s much harsher laws
And the hustlers, they love me, they laud, applaud
I’m at places on the hillside, they call for the Lord
R nineT crawling abroad
Throw paper like ticker tape drop when the four to the floor
Got bad bitches crawling ashore
Yacht parked on the side of the villa where I’m sliding the door
Take a mil’, n***a, hide in the floor
Grand Cayman, we like cavemen
We put fire and the rock in the pot so we can users-allure

[Verse 2: Pusha T, Sandman, & DJ drops]
I feel smothered by this music industry, I need a breather
Guess who’s back selling that shake, like seizure?
I was on hiatus, I ain’t stop stunting, neither
The Benz chariot, horses carry me like Caesar
To Hell with the label woes, suited-out CEOs
Thirteen grand for every “K”, “I”, “L” and “O”
Get it? It’s rebate, how the fuck could I sell it slow?
And I be in that penthouse suite, Miami’s Delano
Rooftop, poolside, same as my room side
TV on the left, had to tell that bitch, “Move sides”
Then fly to Aspen—that’s where we lose time
Baby girl gasping when I tell her, “Choose high” (Get familiar!)
[?] to the chill, I’m laughing
Howard hug her neck so good while she shish-kebab snacking
Thousand dollars a SKU
Then we slide off in the ostrich-skin Bapes, a thousand dollars a shoe (Yeah-ah, can-non)
[Verse 3: Sandman, Pusha T, & DJ drops]
Not a millisecond to waste
I throw a Tec in your face and empty, don’t tempt me
To send thee to the fiery pits
Talking loud, lot of mouth, but ain’t riding for shit, you bitch (*Boom*)
Proper sick, my n***as is
Run up on you, look in your eyes, one to the wig
N***as never seem to survive, and if they live
We back up, hop back out, give ‘em the clip (The clip, clip)
Everything that it hold
’Til we feel we levitated your soul, then we roll
Out and up, counting up
Seasick, turquoise waters, diamonds alike, how do you like? (Yuugh)
I never been complacent
Raising the bar, none of us adjacent
You ain’t on the team, I’m telling you, remember this
Your time is limited, farewell, the bar-rel, you’ll be facing (Get familiar)

[Verse 4: Malice]
Never mind the hiatus, and dispel the myths
I can’t hide from it—you can smell the rich
Bitches flock to it like they drawn to a scent
We like sore thumbs to ‘em, the boys from the men
With alloy on the rims, it’s apples and oranges
Pulling up in rides with angels on the ornaments
Taking a bow as if someone applauded
I’m a show in itself, I don’t need an audience
I tote that automatic for any n***a inching
Jumpy as fuck, like I suffer from post-traumatic—
Syndrome, so, go ahead, stab at it like a fork in the hand
L let them nines have it
Work in the kitchen, money in the Craftmatic
Re-Up, we up one like a plus addict
Nah, brothers, y’all’s a far cry from us
From the stoop to the coupe in 600s and Hummers, n***as