Ay! man, that choppa having acne, a bump on my stock (ay! let that shit ride, Tav)

And that Glock, that ho bipolar, a switch on my

Uh, mm, mm, mm, a switch on myI just be on that

Ay! say, that chop′, that ho got acne, a bump on my stock

And that glizzy thing bipolar, a switch on my Glock

Ay! 40 walking with it stuffed, can't pull out my knot

Time and money, you don′t know it, all of my watch

Ayy, all up that wrist, I got dog shit

I know niggas hatin', I'm in the mall with it

Please reach for my chain, I′ma get self defense

In N.Y. four, five days, posted up selling nicks

Ay! posted up selling shit, nigga, I′ll sell a fit

She got a only fans, bet, come here, I'll sell a bitch

And if you want you somethin′, don't come ′round talkin' ′bout celibate

And lil' bruh trap be doing good, throw him some extra shit

Send me some money and a addy, I'll mail you this

My big brother, he be cooking, you might smell some shit

Can you smell the rock? It cooking

This a Dior jacket, normally Aeropostale hoodies

My last pay look like Ashton Kutcher (I′m having dog shit) sell you a master bully

So much motion, save yo′ Frenchie's (want you a twenty?) Nigga, stop spending

Wanna learn how to cook? I know a chemist

Nigga, my dad and ′nem been with me, no, yap

Scrape gang, scrape the pot

Go make a stop, then hit up the block

Or grab some work and set up shop

These niggas bankroll going down like Jock

You can tell when a nigga lost, he start buying Jay

The nigga just was pouring Wock', but now he sippin′ Quagen

Nobody told you about all them designer shoes anyway

Can't buy designer drugs if you ain′t out here getting paid

Now you broke as fuck, tryna keep up with the fucking wave (Nigga)

I can go designer or go D-boy, pop out hood baby

Dickie suit with the Nikes on, two fifty in the Styrofoam

Pull some shit out a shoebox, so grown, have a whole mind gone

Plain Rollie another time zone, this that, "Sir, yes, sir"

When you sippin' real drank, sometimes your words get slurred

Carti' got my vision blurred

Ballin′, step back shoot like Curry

Like that, bitch, hang up my jersey

Icy, bitch, my wrist McFlurry

Don′t ask me where I'm at and don′t text back, gon' have me worried

Nigga pulled up and slowed down and I upped my 30

I ain′t see 12, they told me drop my gun and I jumped the curb

I ran they ass all way to Whalen, all right by third

And on my kids, all this shit facts, I ain't making no words

You seen Yay come through in that ′Cat, all making a serve

Probably on the next street, yo' bitch wanna neck me

High top Ricks cost seventeen, these kicks high like Jet Lee