[Produced By: 8Track]

[Verse 1: Jarren Benton]
Through the lights, cameras, the action
Glammers, glitters, and gold
So much money that my paper won't fold
Shooting game at these hoes
Like I’m bishop, magic, done one
Out in Hong Kong, eating stuffed wontons
With this dumb blonde
East side, that’s where I come from
Doctor Lecter, bitch
I move effortless, Actavis in my beverage (bitch)
I murder beats like a terrorist, get a therapist
This mac’ll make a pussy n***a do a pirouette
Standing on top of pyramids, watching these snakes slither quick
My bitch could make her pussy toke a couple cigarettes
I bet I be more than n***a rich
Gun powder in my pits, kibbles and bits
The champagne fizzles a bit
Mister Benton, I’m invisible bitch
Keep an icepick to chisel a prick
She discovered my discography, she listens to Rittz
I gave her a couple hits and now she’s licking my dick
Yeah, smooth as a gator on a block of ice
Tough guys get chop chopped with a pocket knife
I’m on the grind tryna get these fucking pockets right
Helicopters hover the block at night
Crack head, stuck to Lucifer’s noose
Another warm Saturday, I take the roof off the coupe
I’m drinking again, I guess I mixed the juice and the Goose
I cum in your bitch’s hair, she say she use it as mousse
Watching Judge Mathis, flicking ashes on these n***a’s fabric
Riding with a dime piece in a vintage Maverick
I just copped a time machine, and a new Bugatti
Just cause they dress like faggots, they ain’t Illuminati
[Interlude: Jarren Benton]
Bitch, yea
Ya'll pussy ass n***as sleeping on the god, man
You know what I'm saying?
When a n***a start goddamn shinning, do-don't act like you know me then, n***a
You know what I'm saying? Go put your god damn shoes in the freezer, bitch
'Cos you walking on motherfucking thin ice, n***a
Jarren Benton, ya'll n***as ain't fucking with the kid, bitch
(Yea) Let's go

[Verse 2: Poundz]
A drug dealer’s dream, cup filled with lean
[?] stuffed to the seams
Green, power time, all I see is dollar signs
[?] You get out of line, take you out your olive nines
Fuck, ocean view in the hands
Tell the bitch cook something, throw some food in the pan
Then I send her home with the scent of my dick
I’m a beast, I’m a dog, get the vet when I’m sick
Shit, I’m too fat to fit in the Panamera
Strappers lit, these rappers bitching, they ran in terror
From the attic era, ‘matic in the hammer bearer
Smash your [?], rub my baby batter in like Aloe Vera
Bet she told you she ain’t like fat guys
'Till I got her that high, plug like a flash drive
Crushed in a cab ride, fuck, let the cash fly
King shit, getting sucked, eating Pad Thai
Murder for the chips again, burn 'em for the dividends
Tailor made ostrich, Birkin for my women friends
Uh, I got monetary obsessions, got to carry a weapon
They plot on my very essence
Uh, I’m from the bottom and I’m glad we are
You know straight Honda Civics, no caddy cars
I turned a stogey to a grand daddy 'gar
And now it’s all about the xanny bars and caviar
Rappers talk suspicious, like they bought some viscous
Boy how you the weight man? You washing dishes
How many rappers really get it 'fore they get in
My yellow gold Cuban make these rappers tuck they shit in
Bitch!