Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah ayy, yeah, yeah, ayy
I copped me a house with a gate
I get rich, I know these niggas hate
I was starvin, they ate in my face
Now you know how your medicine tastes
This a marathon, this not a race
Im just tryin to find my pace
I get rich without tryin every day
I get money, I count up some ways
And if Im not dead, Im gettin to that bread
I call up your bitch, I just want some head
I just want that top, I dont want no sex
You know I got guap, I dont need to flex
My Porsche is droptop, I dont need the Vette
Yeah, push-start, aint no keys to that, yeah
Talkin down and we shoot at his head
Tried to run and we shot off his legs
Play with your bitch pussy, dont play with my bread
These niggas play gangster, but really be scared
You just talkin, you soft, you really like Ted
I get high and nod off, Im off of these meds
I get topped in my pit, you aint got no bed
Boy, you dont pay no rent, you dont pay for shed
Got Givenchy my shirt and my toes and my legs
Shawty ridin my dick like it came with some pegs, yeah
I just been pouring this red, yeah
And its Wock
Shawty suck me up til her jaws lock
Told her, Baby, keep going, dont stop
Yeah, thats just how I roll and I rock
Yeah, Im rolling off X til I drop
Fuck that bulletproof vest, you get shot in your top
Swear these niggas be thinking they cool, and they not
These niggas be lame, these niggas be hot
Think its a game, boy, you could get shot
I got good aim, dont need a red dot
Try me? Aint no way, he thought I forgot
I was fucking your bae, she dropped me the dot
She sent the location, yeah, she sent the pin
You went on vacation, my boys, they went in
We took everything, left a note that said, Ken Carson
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ayy, yeah
Yeah, yeah ayy, yeah, yeah, ayy
I copped me a house with a gate
I get rich, I know these niggas hate
I was starvin, they ate in my face
Now you know how your medicine tastes
This a marathon, this not a race
Im just tryin to find my pace
I get rich without tryin every day
I get money, I count up some ways
And if Im not dead, Im gettin to that bread
I call up your bitch, I just want some head
I just want that top, I dont want no sex
You know I got guap, I dont need to flex
My Porsche is droptop, I dont need the Vette
Yeah, push-start, aint no keys to that, yeah
Talkin down and we shoot at his head
Tried to run and we shot off his legs