[Intro]
La musica de Harry Fraud
Ayy, yeah

[Verse 1: Jay Worthy]
That bitch you call your wife was my first ho
I use to dress her on the blade in my fur coat
Now you kiss her on the mouth, she used to sniff coke
I had her on the same strip where they sell dope
No shame in it, posting ads off my cell phone
The homies looking at you like a yeedo or a come up
Something in the set that they could feed on
I did my thing up in these streets and that's on P-funk
Spraying paint up on these breakers, blood drip, I get my bleed on
Pouring fours of the Wock', I get my lean on
Shit ain't been thе same since G Wee gone
Couplе more fed' years
Face will be full of those tattoo tears
When you come home, we gon' whip you in jet Lears
Where I bodied in the set, had to burn this bitch down
Ho was greener than the Grinch, had to turn this bitch out

[Interlude: Conway the Machine]
Yeah, look, uh

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
These n***as rap real good, but never seen paper
We major, n***a, the Ms about to be a teenager
Conway Machine and Harry fraud beat cremator
From where young n***as push Trackhawks, like they Speed Racer (Vroom)
Convertor switch on Glockianna with the green laser (Uh-huh)
They tough on Internet, but pussy when they see you later (Pussy)
A splash of pineapple juice, my Casa Mi' chaser
Bitches see me skip to my Lou, like they seen Rafer (Ha)
Yo, why these n***as always need favors? (Huh?)
I'm tryna own a bunch of land, dawg, I need acres (Talk to 'em)
Do this shit independently, I don't need majors
Taking a lion's share of the bag
Owning the art when I'm the creator (In yo' bag)
The difference with us is y'all givers and we takers (Uh-huh)
Ball up a Russian cream and let the weed take us
Told n***as I'ma touch hundred Ms
Them n***as sneezed at the thought, but they gonna see later
Machine (Look at 'em now)
[Outro: Big Body Bes]
Uh, no problem, you need somebody to blame?
Just say my name and I will appear
Just hit my promoter, you could book me for any arraignment
Book me for your crime scene, uh, book me for your shooting
I'll be there, oh, I'll be there, yes
It's me JuJu, Mr. Three for Twenty-Five
Akademiks jeans
I jump out, burners in both hands
And I'm shooting and spittin'
Helicopter homicide
If I go, we gonna all go
Gasoline bath the block
Flacco, light it