[Intro]
(Ajaks, this a banger)

[Chorus: Chicken P]
I'm like "N***a, is you cool?", you don't make enough (Frrt, phew)
I only use the money counter 'cause of paper cuts
It prolly take me like thirty days to make a buck
I'ma drive the coupe today, lil' brodie take the truck
Peter Piper packed a pack of pounds and he sealed 'em up
I just cut the pint of pie and I'm pourin' up
What the fuck wrong with my neck, this bitch glowin' up
Front-end, back, back, back, and I'm showin' up

[Verse 1: Chicken P]
I'll spin the front-ends, book all the back-ends, I'll put 'em up
If you could put more paper in your pockets, they ain't full enough
Gotta drop a lil' more in your soda, it ain't dark enough
These lame ass n***as get it, pour out they heart to fuck
All this fuckin' water on my neck, look like [?] or what?
It sound like a lion fightin' every time I start the truck
I don't think it'd be smart to start with us
Big ass 10 milly on me, it'll park a bus (Hmm)
Big ass bankroll on me, I can get you touched
Baby, I ain't with the roleplay, is we finna fuck?
I'm tryna run up a million dollars (A million dollars)
Dropped the eight, poured a four and a Fanta four in the crush (Huh)
I got [?] in my watch, why you get 'em crushed? (Huh)
Out of butter in the pot, like, what you cookin' up? (Huh)
I'm finna hit her raw brick with a brick of cut (Huh)
I can get you what you need, now tell me what you wanted
This food right here go in the blender, not in the oven
Made thirty-two days in a row, that's a triple double
If you can get them to my door, I pay you for the troubles
If you can get them to my door, I pay you for the travel
I beat and walked out with a ticket, like a fuckin' raffle
All these motherfuckin' bricks, I could build a castle
I seen shit you thought wouldn't happen really happen
All these n***as really jokes, I sit back and laugh at 'em
You think you could do this shit like me, take a stab at it
I'll put the switch on your ass like your granddaddy
Bitch, I had a quarter brick back when we was wearin' ballies
I went half on the strike, me and bro, we sharin' tallies
[Chorus: Chicken P & G Herbo]
I'm like "N***a, is you cool?", you don't make enough
I only use the money counter 'cause of paper cuts
It prolly take me like thirty days to make a buck
I'ma drive the coupe today, lil' brodie take the truck
Peter Piper packed a pack of pounds and he sealed 'em up
I just cut the pint of pie and I'm pourin' up
What the fuck wrong with my neck, this bitch glowin' up
Front-end, back, back, back, and I'm showin' up (Ayy, double)

[Verse 2: G Herbo]
Wanna book me? Send a hunnid racks, it's goin' up (It's goin' up)
While fifty in the front, another nick when I pull up (Yeah)
Rolls truck, bad bitches jump on dick when I pull up (When I pull up)
Grab her face, tell her open up, spit [?]
I get vicious when I'm on that Tris, sippin' out the cup
Drink tequila on a miss, this lil' shit hit me, tryna fuck (Tryna fuck)
Usually I be chasin' the bag, won't even make time for a nut
I told Chicken I'm gettin' this chicken, I count up a ticket, it give me a rush
I make money in my sleep but I be barely catchin' Z's
N***as trollin' on the 'net but never gangster when we meet (Pussy)
I be solo like civilians, half a million last week
Lil' cuz want another B, I told him "Let that n***a breathe"
I was broke sellin' weed, barely did a stack a week (Uh)
Now I'm blowin' six figures every time I pack a seat
'Til my n***a Smurk free, I told 'em "Give the 'Raq to me"
Put me anywhere with gangsters, bet you I adapt with ease
If they got them bills for the low, I'm bringin' back some P's
God forbid this rap shit get slow, I'm in the trap [?]
Got so many tennis chains, I need a racket, please
Got so many bracelets, they can't even wrap my sleeve
Got so many bracelets, they can't even fit my sleeve (Uh)
Red band on a [?], yeah, that's how I'm bleedin'
Feel like Allen Iverson, my earrings bling (Bling)
Ghost my fine shit 'cause when she fiend she a demon
Every line in a n***a rhymes, I really seen it
79 and she still mine and I mean it
Every angle of my lifestyle I was dreamin'
Winnin' with my team, think you fuckin' with us, I'm like
[Chorus: Chicken P & G Herbo]
I'm like "N***a, is you cool?", you don't make enough (Swerv)
I only use the money counter 'cause of paper cuts
It prolly take me like thirty days to make a buck
I'ma drive the coupe today, lil' brodie take the truck
Peter Piper packed a pack of pounds and he sealed 'em up
I just cut the pint of pie and I'm pourin' up
What the fuck wrong with my neck, this bitch glowin' up
Front-end, back, back, back, and I'm showin' up (Brrt)