Damn, tricking is a treat partner

Every beat drops and I spit to see profit

It's a bitch to be honest

But I got to listen to Christopher Wallace

More money, more problems, more dummies, more zombies

More blood sucking hoes on my jock piece

Funny how “oh no”s turn into “probably”s

But the SoCo lowering my eyelids

And when I smoke Dro, paranoia dives in

Then SoHo turns into Thriller

Everyone's a freak and thoughts become violent

Off with their heads

To these industry freaks, I'm Shaun of the Dead

Thriller on repeat is this song in my head

Feel the songs beat, what I want but instead

Bubblegum bums only want candy

Everyday's Halloween, trying to win Grammys

I want longevity, pop songs stressing me

Pop, I'll never be

Honeys see me and they drop jaws

And they sink fangs in my neck, sharp claws in my back

'87 with the songs on the tech

Every beat knock, shacking freaks off of our backs

Don't you be surprised, when our dough begins to rise

And I open up my eyes, and they all transform on me

Yeah it feels good when the song starts now

Till you go and find out what this shit is about

Watch it all transform when these stars turn goblins

The shit is all the same, more money, more problems

Look around and all these zombies wanna get me

I try and stay clear, but the virus won't affect me

Cuz I was born like Blade

And bad guys follow on my path like a braid

And people wanna chase me, and then wonder why I can't speak

You were an ordinary stranger to me last week

And now you're hunting me down, you got me ducking around

Last week I was something to clown

Look, bitches all wanna transform fast

I rap for them, that'll get their pants down fast

They all back stage waiting for me to chill

They wanna fuck just to have a story to tell, real

And when they know you're a star

They wanna play the card

Trying hard because they horny as hell, yeah

She said she won't but she will

If fame was a pill, I'd pop too much and get killed

People overdosing on it, I'm immune to it

I just take a beat and put a spoon to it

Eat it up and chew through it, munch down

Just as soon as I touchdown, in the studio that means give em to it

I take instrumentals and murder them in cold blood

And spit complex patterns like an old rug

If you ain't about getting down, then it's no fun

The freaks coming out at night, when there's no sun

Yeah, more money, more problems

Yeah, more money, more problems

Yeah, more money, more problems

The shit is all the same

More money, more problems

Yeah, more money, more problems

Yeah, more money, more problems

Yeah, more money, more problems

The shit is all the same

More money, more problems

Don't you be surprised when our dough begins to rise

And I open up my eyes, and they all transform on me

On me, on me, on me, yeah