[Intro: DJ drops]
Get familiar!
[Verse 1: Ab-Liva & DJ drops]
Iām privy to the fact of the matter
That I shatter all records for the new king, pardon as I catapult (Yeah)
Fly high, Earl Manigault
Still in the kitchen with my fingers in the batter, yāall (Clintonā Clintonā Clinton Sparks!)
The magic man, turn soft to hard
Turn four into six, n***a, chart my odds
If he caught with that hard, itās much harsher laws
And the hustlers, they love me, they laud, applaud
Iām at places on the hillside, they call for the Lord
R nineT crawling abroad
Throw paper like ticker tape drop when the four to the floor
Got bad bitches crawling ashore
Yacht parked on the side of the villa where Iām sliding the door
Take a milā, n***a, hide in the floor
Grand Cayman, we like cavemen
We put fire and the rock in the pot so we can users-allure
[Verse 2: Pusha T, Sandman, & DJ drops]
I feel smothered by this music industry, I need a breather
Guess whoās back selling that shake, like seizure?
I was on hiatus, I aināt stop stunting, neither
The Benz chariot, horses carry me like Caesar
To Hell with the label woes, suited-out CEOs
Thirteen grand for every āKā, āIā, āLā and āOā
Get it? Itās rebate, how the fuck could I sell it slow?
And I be in that penthouse suite, Miamiās Delano
Rooftop, poolside, same as my room side
TV on the left, had to tell that bitch, āMove sidesā
Then fly to Aspenāthatās where we lose time
Baby girl gasping when I tell her, āChoose highā (Get familiar!)
[?] to the chill, Iām laughing
Howard hug her neck so good while she shish-kebab snacking
Thousand dollars a SKU
Then we slide off in the ostrich-skin Bapes, a thousand dollars a shoe (Yeah-ah, can-non)
[Verse 3: Sandman, Pusha T, & DJ drops]
Not a millisecond to waste
I throw a Tec in your face and empty, donāt tempt me
To send thee to the fiery pits
Talking loud, lot of mouth, but aināt riding for shit, you bitch (*Boom*)
Proper sick, my n***as is
Run up on you, look in your eyes, one to the wig
N***as never seem to survive, and if they live
We back up, hop back out, give āem the clip (The clip, clip)
Everything that it hold
āTil we feel we levitated your soul, then we roll
Out and up, counting up
Seasick, turquoise waters, diamonds alike, how do you like? (Yuugh)
I never been complacent
Raising the bar, none of us adjacent
You aināt on the team, Iām telling you, remember this
Your time is limited, farewell, the bar-rel, youāll be facing (Get familiar)
[Verse 4: Malice]
Never mind the hiatus, and dispel the myths
I canāt hide from itāyou can smell the rich
Bitches flock to it like they drawn to a scent
We like sore thumbs to āem, the boys from the men
With alloy on the rims, itās apples and oranges
Pulling up in rides with angels on the ornaments
Taking a bow as if someone applauded
Iām a show in itself, I donāt need an audience
I tote that automatic for any n***a inching
Jumpy as fuck, like I suffer from post-traumaticā
Syndrome, so, go ahead, stab at it like a fork in the hand
L let them nines have it
Work in the kitchen, money in the Craftmatic
Re-Up, we up one like a plus addict
Nah, brothers, yāallās a far cry from us
From the stoop to the coupe in 600s and Hummers, n***as