(Intro)
I got
Bitches galore
Money galore
Still I want more
Still I want more (x3)

(verse 1)
I got bitches galore
Still passed out on the floor
Fire in my eyesz
They look like burning meteors
Fuck the fancy metaphors
What I got to be fancy for
What you know bout
4 o clock
Feds kicking in the door
I'm off of the hinges
That's words from my missus
I'm a man on a mission
Like a soldier in the trenches
OGs was my influence and I was just an apprentice
I learned to never trust a bitch
Cause they got hidden agendas
And it's hard to be aware
Of the fake
When change like a bitches hair
Different weaves
With tricks up they sleeves
And if every nigha a Indian
Who the fuck is the chief
So let me be the relief
To the ones who feeling grief
Cause originality deceased
And copying increased
Impostors
So many plotters
I need some choppas
A couple a shottas
Who shoot for brains
When they aim
So ain't no need for a doctor
(melodic)
Just identify and keep it moving
By switching up you n***as is proven
Too many snakes and rats where the humans
Facades and frauds you nighas living illusions
Ugh
(Hook)
Used to be trapping out the store
But I needed more
Wanted riches galore
Wanted bitches galore
Wanted Coke from the border
Straight from Cuba over water
Beware of this killer author
Fuck fame
I'm out for slaughter
Too much money ain't enough
You think I'm fake call my bluff
And u don't ask around to see if I'm really tough
As you you run
I'll bet you that gun bust
Bah!