[Verse 1: Drake]
Took n***as out the hood like I'm from there
So you know it's all good when I come there
I hear you talk about your city like you run that
And I brought my tour to your city, you my son there, n***a
But I had to come through for the remix
On my haven’t-done-a-verse-in-eight-weeks shit
And if a n***a say my name, he the hot shit
But if I say the n***a name, he still the hot shit
Fucked up, lucky I don't feed into the gossip
N***as act like they don't know, but they should know
Yeah, I just think it's funny how they dangling the bait
But I'm the one that's killing n***as on the hooks, though
And n***as ain't got a grill, still ice-grill hating
I know y'all already know Mike Will Made It
Just looking at thе numbers, n***a, I feel amazing
I'll call Michael Jordan up and Mike will makе it
I'm the young rap n***a with the 'Melo deal
You need to come to OVO for a better deal
Just know a million ain't shit once you get a mil'
And n***as say it’s all good
That’s how you better feel, n***a, nah!
Fuck that, this year I'm talking big stuff
Rolling through the city like a young n***a bricked up
Fuck n***as gon' be fuck n***as
That's why we never gave a fuck
When a fuck n***a switched up, damn!
[Verse 2: ScHoolboy Q]
Frontin' like you really on that bullshit
Gun him down, make a motherfucker do a full flip, chip chip
N***a really really on that Crip shit
Bisquick whip, whip, whip, n***a, move it!
Got the toolie, yeah, the piece, I'mma use it
N***a ruthless, leave a chump n***a toothless
Tell him "smooches", got that white girl
Get a tan when I ice her, Arm and Hammer
Mixin' venom like a viper, you the buyer
I'm the n***a with the fire, you's a minor
Now I'm major with the paper, coppin' acres
Overseas like a sailor, you a hater
And ya daddy in the same boat, you a busta when ya chain go
Pourin' syrup on my Eggo, four liters for the eight though
To the face, now the day slow, you's a fruity lil' rainbow
Real n***a, call me Django, 50 seconds till the say low
Wild bucks shootin' halos, every pocket got a bank roll
I don't think you really understand me (stand me)
Groovy Q ain't keep the nose candy (candy)
[Verse 3: Fat Trel]
N***a tell me how you want it with a savage
It get crazy where I'm living it's tragic
If you can take it from my pocket you can have it
You know I got a body bag in the trash
You know I got an old thot you can have
N***a couldn't fuck my old bitch
N***as couldn't eat my old pussy
I'm in the kitchen I could tell you how the stove looking
N***a all I really wanted was the pyrex
A couple hundred body snatchers in the projects
You know my plug stay connected like direct
I'm in Miami my bitches like "where Lebron at?"
I finish fucking her and finish like "where your mom at?"
In front the coppers I got choppers for the combat
Couldn't believe it my n***as say he was sellin' grenades
Keep bullshittin' and ima sit you where the bomb at
D.C. n***a, sittin wrist whip dough
He ain't know a chopper price get this low
See I cop em' in Atlanta bring em' back to Alabama Avenue
And tell them n***as "come and get it let's go"
Fifty in the Mac take em' back to Benning Road
Strippa bitches in my kitchen with the semi's on the floor
All I know I want him dead by tonight
With his head in his lap and his body at the light
Purchase me some Act and I'm a pour me some Sprite
Tell a bitch keep counting till she get the count right
When a bitch finish might purchase her a flight
Might take her whole life
Might fuck her all night
Right, you know I hate to say it twice
But you pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
Pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
Pussy ass n***as ain't bout that life
[Verse 4: Meek Mill]
Thirty in the clip catch the whole thing
Feds know a n***a by his whole name
Shoot him in his head for his gold chain
You was running ball, we was sellin' cocaine
Talkin bout you buyin' bricks, n***a you ain't got shit
We was sellin' all them keys, we was like the locksmith
Twenty-Five hundred for the red bottoms
Balmain five bands for the waist n***a
I'm rollin' through my city in a new Rolls Royce
Cheif Keef 300 for the Wraith n***a
A.K, S.K, H.K n***a, three K's like I hate n***as
And I'll put you in your place n***a
You got shoebox money I got a safe n***a holdup
[Verse 5: Rick Ross]
Automatic pistol on a n***a leather seat
See a bad bitch she my jam of the week
All I ever wanted was a kilo
Till they hit my little n***a with the RICO
Bitches lookin' at me, Keisha look at all this change
It's the heart of war tour bus full of K's
Master P money I could pull up in a tank
C Murda shooter know a pill on the way
Still [?]
Rich n***as coming through you broke n***as better move
At your front door got word you got work
3.5 for the key of the purp
Now six figures for this fat n***as verse
All eyes on me as I'm walking through the church
Prayin' lord forgive me, 30 shots in the semi
I done paid all of my tithes now it's time to go and get it
My new plug don't fuck with the cut
My new bitch gettin' fucked in the butt
Ridin' by the [?] see me sitting in the trunk
N***as say they coming threw but they see me strapped up, what
N***a runnin' in your house for the brown bag
Feds wanna know how much in the brown bag
N***a swinging that stick for the brown bag
Your bitch even saw my number on the brown bag
All I ever wanted was Kilo
Till they hit my lil' woe with the Rico
Sippin' on purp n***as still got a pint
Still moving work n***a ooh what night
Ooh what a night, ooh what a night
Post a picture of that pussy get 200 likes
200 likes all that bitch getting from me is them 200 likes
[Verse 6: Jeezy]
Made the Forbes and I'm straight up outta projects
Still running with them n***as with that work check
It go "Brrrrrrrr" with the choppa
That's the only way the pussy 'posed to stop ya
Pour out a little liquor, one in every got a ghetto
Stack a 20 bill, n***a, tall as Carmelo
Winter olympic games and the categories caine
Bet ya one fuckin' thing, I'll win a gold medal
Why ya actin' like a bitch? Lil Jon, my n***a
Don't you ever doubt me, I'm like LeBron, my n***a
I ain't takin' no shorts, bitch, I hit it with the fork
Fuck a wrist game, use my whole arm, my n***a
Snowman, bitch, y'all know me
Fourth quarter pressure on 'em like Kobe
Act like my shit don't stink, pocket feel like a bank
Neck lookin' like a 40 ounce of O.E
Tell me why my album selling, they ain't murder me yet
If they do, bury me in a burgundy 'Vette
Talk behind my back, you could hate me all ya want
But them same fuck n***as ain't shot shit yet
Yeah, you see me on Gangland, as real as it get
They just rappin' about it, I was livin' that shit
Straight up
[Chorus: Future]
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags, n***a, you ain't bought shit
Talkin' 'bout a hunnid bottles, n***a, you ain't popped shit
All you talk 'nana clips, n***a, you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a, you ain't fuck shit
[Bridge: T.I.]
This for my n***as when they walk up out the house, they (turn it)
Fuck what ya mouth say (turn it, turn it)
[Verse 7: T.I.]
Fully automatic rifle, 100 round drum on it with a scope
I done had that, n***a (Brrrrrrr, stick 'em)
I ain't playing with these n***as, just kill 'em, turn it
N***a talk shit, I'll blast that n***a
Shoot his ass right in front his homeboys
Kill the party, drove off and then stab that n***a
Everyone vicinity hear the boy ho noise
I'm the Zone 1 king, from a whole one thing
Threw a 100 on it, shawty, I was doing my thing
You tryna get a million, I done did that
Aye, keep it pimpin', keep a ticket where I live at
Aye, listen, sucka, I got nothin' for ya but a new coffin
I'll shoot you walkin' 'fore you get through talkin', n***a!
Catch me walkin' in ya hood, trench coat swingin'
Mask on, step up on ya front porch bangin'
Them Bankhead n***as, they a muhfucka, ain't they?
I'm the realest, richest n***a that you know today famous
Catch ya flaggin' in ya hood and ya wanna be a gangsta
In ya skinny jeans in arenas entertainin'
No matter how you paint it, better see the big picture
I'll get ya, n***a, wit' ya, then hit ya n***a!
[Chorus: Future]
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags, n***a, you ain't bought shit
Talkin' 'bout a hunnid bottles, n***a, you ain't popped shit
All you talk 'nana clips, n***a, you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a, you ain't fuck shit
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags (Shit!), n***a, you ain't bought shit (Shit!)
Talkin' 'bout a hunnid bottles (Shit!), n***a, you ain't popped shit (Shit!)
All you talk 'Nana clips (Shit!), n***a, you ain't shot shit (Shit!)
Spending money on these hoes (Shit!), n***a, you ain't fuck shit (Shit!)
[Verse 8: Diddy]
I ain't tryna hear a whole bunch of that (shit)
About how many bodies you caught (shit)
My n***as is real thug n***as, them real n***as don't talk
Worldstar n***as get caught, wavin' all them guns at the cameras
Grown ass n***a, you ain't bout to shoot (shit), you don't do (shit)
You just think it's cool (shit) to move bricks
Real n***as do it cause they got to
I know them real n***as and it's not you
And if they see yo' ass round here frontin'
Real shooter be somewhere and shot you
Man, get the fuck out the booth poppin' that (shit)
Corny ass n***a just talkin' that (shit)
Heard about it, read about it, never been around it
But you think ya soft ass give somebody that (shit)
How you movin' round with ya ho?
You ain't even stickin' to the code
You don't even represent the life right
Pussy n***a sleepin' with a night light
Comin' for ya head like Fight Night
I can get anything done for the right price, boy!
(Bad Boy) Take that
[Interlude: Future & Juicy J]
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags, n***a, you ain't bought shit Let's get it! (Ma-fi-UH!)
[Verse 9: Juicy J]
If money talk then your pockets ain't saying shit
I'm in the bathroom getting head from yo' bitch
And I ain't paying her shit
You want beef? You don't know who you playing with (Hey!)
I tell my pilot to land the jet (Hey!)
I'm hopping off, get 'em, we popping off (Hey!)
Give a click and you n***as dead where you standing at (Hey!)
I'm just a trippy n***a smoking on cabbage
Your money funny like Jim Carrey
I got a bitch and she super bad like Halle
And we still keeping that white like Barry
I'm a rich n***a, still keep a pistol with me
N***a, you ain't fuckin' with a picture of me
I got all this cake and shooters with me
Just in case you pussy n***as try to get you a piece
What it is, my n***a? What it's hittin' for? (Hey!)
Where the car you were whippin' in you video? (Hey!)
Where the ice at, n***a? Where them pretty hoes? (Hey!)
You a fraud, real n***as already know (Hey!)
Broke-ass n***as, I can't stand 'em (Hey!)
I hit 'em with the cannon
I'm buying off the mall at random (Hey!)
Juicy J, that n***a fresh to death (Hey!)
Smoke it 'til it's nothing left
Peel off, then I'm ghost in my Phantom
[Interlude: Future]
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags, n***a, you ain't bought shit
[Verse 10: Tracy T]
My killas got shooters on shooters
My killas got shooters on shooters
My killas got shooters on shooters
Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang
Knock em down hundred rounds, lotta pounds, kilograms on the ave
How you want it? Quarter thang, half thang, whole slab?
Young Atlanta n***a pull a hammer on ya
Pull up on a n***a in a California
Teach a lame how to flip a couple numbers
Whole summer dope runners getting more commers
Money got me geekin', damn I need more
Alejandro bringin' in them truckloads
Copy that, get racks, n***a ten-four
Choppa bullets just rip a n***a head off
Clip long as a little n***a leg dawg
Empty that and the barrel just smoke
Closed casket, n***a head open
Peel the top back, yeah I’m in the foreign
Wide body and it sittin' on Forgies
Choppa kick like Chuck Norris
Ralph Lauren, my engine full of horses
Aim game insane n***a I’m a marksman
Cocaine white y’all n***as flip porcelain
Blow worth a fortune, million on the fortress
N***as totin' AK’s like they Glock 40’s
[Chorus: Future]
Talkin' 'bout you poppin' tags, n***a, you ain't bought shit
Talkin' 'bout a hunnid bottles, n***a, you ain't popped shit
All you talk 'nana clips, n***a, you ain't shot shit
Spending money on these hoes, n***a, you ain't fuck shit
