[Verse 1: Boosie Badazz]
Now, you ain't bout that murder murder shit
You ain't down to lose your cool and go and hurt a bitch
We got them hookups on them rentals, now we murking shit
Tinted up, spending, finna let that thirty spit
Bitch do you want your fucking family in black clothes?
The bitches in black dresses, the n***as in black bows
You ain't know? I'm cutthroat, conniver
I'm a bottom boy survivor
Sip syrup, and smoke fire
And I'm wilder than the average thug
I'm hardheaded, my mama told me that
And you gots to be real, all this drama showed me that
Lose your mind if you want to
I got a clique of real n***as who gon' stomp you
And want you to be hollering bout that iron play
And we gon' hit your street tonight, not the next day, that tech spray
N***a don't worry bout that
They gon' get what they deserve bout that
We gon' cut down they whole curb bout that (What?)

[Chorus: Boosie Badazz]
You ain't bout what you be talking bout
You ain't ready for your mama to be walking out (Uh Uh)
That big ass church with all your people, crying, hollering bout
Why you had to take my son, that's what them choppers bout (Is you bout that boy?)
[Verse 2: Webbie]
You ain't really bout that shit you be talking, so stop that talking, You heard me?
Stop all that talking', and walk it, if you gon' serve me, then serve me
And I'm lil Trill Entertainment, so know one thing, I ain't worried
Cuz my family do damage, business ain't handled, it's murder
N***as sweeter than Skittles, so they spitting in riddles
See that lil' shit that you spittin gon' have you sleep in hospitals
Cause if you beef with my n***as, then we gon' really squad up
From choppers to a six, bitch, you can't avoid us
Rapping bout smoking that killer, don't even smoke killer
Even if you did, I wouldn't even smoke with you
Ya bitch, ya fraud, ya fake, ya motherfucking fluke
Pussy all wet, your fucking booty all loose
You and them other two n***as, duck, duck, goose
Under the throwback jersey, the vest bullet proof
Gangsta shit jump off, boy you know you finna run out
Close your fucking mouth, before I rip your damn tongue out

[Chorus: Boosie Badazz]
You ain't bout what you be talking bout
You ain't ready for your mama to be walking out (Uh Uh)
That big ass church with all your people, crying, hollering bout
Why you had to take my son, that's what them choppers bout (Is you bout that boy?)

[Verse3: Boosie Badazz]
You ain't bout laying under a n***a house, like a mouse
And you light his ass up when he come out
When it's a drought, we get sick with it
You heard about Lil' Trell?
Gunned down when he was 12
Ever since then it been hell
Webbie, and they don't live like we live
They don't deal like we deal
They ain't real like we real
Look, I'm from that track light, that bottom of that SSB
Whatever you call it, that shit lives in me
Them n***as kill for free, like Lil' Trell on the love
Cause these n***as ain't my equal, and they hating on this lil' thug
A lot of n***as scared of y'all, but not me
This for them n***as in the rap game, who knock me, but can't stop me
And my posse is full of thugs, like Head Busta', Baby Junior, and my n***a Chubbs
We dumping slugs on the enemy
I thought you was my closest friend, but now on you just a frenemy
And this fucking penitentiary make n***as think they real
And when they get out, they got a nerve to pop a pill (But look here)
[Chorus: Boosie Badazz]
You ain't bout what you be talking bout
You ain't ready for your mama to be walking out (Uh Uh)
That big ass church with all your people, crying, hollering bout
Why you had to take my son, that's what them choppers bout (Is you bout that boy?)