[Intro]
808 Mafia
YK

[Chorus: Project Pat]
I got cheese, dope, and a fuckin' bad bitch (Woo)
I got pills, weed, and a Draco with some clips (Woo)
I'ma empty every round, then I'm reloadin' the clip
Caught your gal out here thottin', fucked on that lil' bitch

[Verse 1: Project Pat]
Memphis n***as country n***as, and we want all the smoke (Uh-huh)
Fuck with Hector and Gomez, man, we sell all the dope (Uh-huh)
Call my lawyer Eric Morgan if I do get caught (Ooh)
The best lawyer in the world, he gon' get the charges dropped
I got dawgs, they not strays
Gold teeth, I got braids
Money train, n***as on they hustle, we tryna get paid (Ching ching)
Pistol grip, .40 on the hip, shootin' out the muzzle (Bang)
Throw your gang sign in the air if you know 'bout the struggle
Money blue like cuzzo
Pull that strap like uh-oh
I'ma shoot like for sure
Try me a no-no
All my n***as on go-go
Fuck 12, fuck po-po
One in the dome from Draco
Head in pieces like puzzle (Ooh, ooh)
[Chorus: Project Pat]
I got cheese, hoes, and a bunch of fuckin' dope
I got P's, coke, and some killers at the door
Hydro weed smoke, and a quarter-ounce of blow
What you need, bro, is to fuck with your boy

[Verse 2: Young Dolph]
Ayy
Slidin' down 240, then got off on Airways (Trap)
Headed to the hood with whole things for sale, man (Trap)
You want a P or a motherfuckin' bale, man? (Trap)
When you pass that corner store, just make a left, man (Trap)
I'm on Bowen Street (Trap), eighty P's a week (Trap)
N***as runnin' in and out, that's how you know it's me (Trap)
Burglar bars on every window on the house (Ayy, who that right there?)
Ain't nothing in here but a scale and a couch (Yeah, yeah)
Narcotics ridin' down the street, oh shit (Goddamn)
I grabbed the money, went and threw it over the fence (Throw it next door)
Too much money, this shit got me paranoid (Yeah, yeah)
These n***as dummies, man, don't make me send them boys

[Verse 3: Key Glock]
Yeah
South Memphis youngin', you know how I'm comin' (Glizzock)
I been gettin' money, turn nothin' into somethin' (Yeah)
Phone line jumpin' (Brrt), they booking' me constantly (Okay)
'Cause this young n***a hotter than a fuckin' oven (Hot, hot)
Chillin' with your auntie (Ayy), smokin' on some onion (Yeah)
Her ass fat like an onion (Yeah), head bomb, atomic (Woah)
Ridin' 'round town in a brand new foreign (Skrrt)
Then I got bored, put some Forgiatos on it (Yeah)
I be Gucci'd down, but I'm still wearing Jordans (Yeah)
I be iced out, bitch, my neck cost a fortune (Yeah)
I be ballin' out, I just came back from tourin' (Yeah)
And linked up with Pat 'cause he say he got some more
[Chorus: Project Pat]
I got cheese, hoes, and a bunch of fuckin' dope
I got P's, coke, and some killers at the door
Hydro weed smoke, and a quarter-ounce of blow
What you need, bro, is to fuck with your boy