[Verse 1: Flee Lord]
Okay, okay
Okay, okay (Okay, lord knows)
Light down, no Nikés, Gucci nightgown (Sheesh)
Three choppers pre-rolled, we sippin' light brown
Crazy Louie and my lady got a baby Uzi (Brrt, brrt, brrt)
We makin' movies, eatin' grapes inside a shaped jacuzzi (Ah, ah, ah)
Ragged leathers, I'm grimy with fat cheddar (Fat cheddar)
Thinkin' 'bout my broke days (Broke days)
High and the bad weather (Let's go like)
They hatin' on me privately (Ah)
I ate her on the balcony (Woo)
She waited for her majesty (Woo)
I'm kickin' but they doubted me (Ah-ah)
Doubted me plus they pocket-watching
Smooth like Dionne Warwick (Dionnе Warwick)
Used to be on raw shit, moving cautious
All that bullshit, can see I'm off it
And she look good with thе club lights on (Huh?)
Diamonds are forever but the love last longer
Yellow Timbs with the sweats
Good gems on her neck (Neck)
Picked me up when I was down
Real friends don't forget (No)
Twistin' while I chef
Big pistol on deck (Brr), while I call the connect (Brr)
In I roll sippin' coffee (Coffee)
Get these ho' bitches off me (Off me)
Even on the road doin' shows with the possé
We eatin' Hibachi (Hah)
[Verse 2: Ghostface Killah]
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, uh-huh, yo
The fragrance some soaked in this like Barry White's neck
Bitches flockin', wanna fuck me off a light sweat
Pinky ring, Tom Selleck joints, harry chest, toned
Even when I'm gettin' my dick sucked, I still get the phone
Blankets, big robes, gold pots on the big stove
Cocaine [?] limbs 'cause I been cold
Quiet storm, Lenny Green in my BLS voice
VSO, shoot out platinum flacons in France
In a chopped Royce
Gettin' chauffeured in Gucci loafers
My name's written in script
In bedroom pillows, worldwide chef sellin'
Who can whip the best brick?
It's Tone, T-O to the N-E
Killed the game from the moment he sent me
Me and my girl Pam Grier and Goldie woke up
Two-hundred thousand link on a neckpiece

[Skit: Roc Marciano]
Goldie, you know, I need a man, you know?
I need somebody in my corner, man, you know?
Not-not just because I'm [?] man, but somebody to be there
Do you think I'm wrong?
No, I don't think you're wrong at all (Marci, yo, Flee, what up? Uh)
Help me then, Goldie
[Verse 3: Roc Marciano]
Bad bitches cat-call, that's backwards, dawg (Uh)
Can't imagine being blackballed
Shots go back and forth like we playin' paddleball
Long 'fore a n***a ever had a song, I was addin' to the catalog (Uh)
Made a splash in the game, I ain't even yell "Cannonball" (Splash)
I had the Patek on with the motherfuckin' waterfall (Uh)
I'm in a 4-door with the .44 listenin' to 4:44 (Woo)
You get what you had called for
'Fore the .40 hit the floor I was off
Probably up in Club 40/40 with a whore
To break course like 40 when it's off
To make a long story short
I don't even talk, I just put numbers on the board
I can make your raw summersault
I can make you a corpse, I can make you throw a gutterball (Strike)
Uh, either way, you gettin' fucked (Yuh)
Let my heaters spray to get a buck
Even as a teenager I was buck (Uh)
Wild as fuck with the gun
Me and my son, we was lookin' like five and Buck
Could've been point guard for the Bucks
Thank God when it rung I had my guard up (Woo)
The palm made him flip like a fish out of water
The body wash up somewhere down in Florida
N***a, Marci
N***a
[Outro]
Hey Rem, what is your philosophy of life, Rem?
Live until you're dead