[Produced by Meechie Einstein]
[Verse 1: Sam King]
Today I woke on my own
Work on my own
Who chirping my phone
Oh you need to fix
Parfait my wrist
Vegas ain't that, Vegas is this
And you get dismissed when you hit this strip
Couldn't take this dab, couldn't take this drip
Couldn't open my zip, couldn't roll my blunt
You ain't no king, don't recognize ya
Better recognize real when it gets this close, I'm right in front you
It's SK 34 , you know you 12
Suburban trappin , And I can Front You
The Week is heavy, said what the f** you gone do
Stand up on my own Two
Manifest This Now Many Festivals
Slanging this Mountain
Just tryna Rock
Shot to your Boulder
Leave you In Pebbles
My hat is red not a Blood Just a Rebel
And I'm running , Are you coming
Don't be mad when you get left
This is real Hip Hop who you Tryna Impress
Doing my dance but it look like a bench Press
[Hook/Chorus]
Hope that money where yo mouth is when i confront you
This sh** right here not for the low but I can front you
Should be worried bout your money, till then i confront you
I'm out here trappin' often, put that sh** right NFRNTCHU
[Verse 2: Sir Michael Rocks]
I wake up round 12 and feed my motherf**in' monkey
I'm wrappin' up and shippin' them P's all the way cross the country
Tuna rolls and spider rolls i'm invitin' hoes to my sushi spot
Couple bougie THOTs, man my heart is cold the jacuzzi's hot
Got a choke up hold with the uzi co*ked?
When my birds in the air like a plasma
Pushin' these p**ys into the miasma faster
Lotta n***as comin' with me wherever I go
Where the f** were n***as when i was livin' in Chicago
Dyin' in Chicago, hand on the rifle
Day you was born you were dead upon arrival
Spent all my money tryna sue this n***a
But what i really should have did is shoot this n***a
Would've cost me less to just pay my bail
It'll be a ice cold day in hell, before i take another n***a into federal court, f** that
I stay shipping' those cell phones, my homie stay with them pros
When I say we ordering J's, I ain't talkin bout no shoes
[Hook/Chorus]
[Verse 3: Curtis Willams]
Young rich negro, got a stylist name Nego
I keep kush so we can blaze, I'm pa**in' blunts to my people
First I got a little, then i went and got a lot
Bust it down and roll it, you p**ys still tryna plot
Closet worth a check, and i ain't worried 'bout s**a n***as
I just want the bread so we can flex
I'm rarely every sober
Got a pocket full of blunts and b**h im still rollin
Can't fold it, f** you n***a we blow it
White lines in the morning
She need this sh** like some Folgers
Whiskey in the booth, b**h i'm getting tipsy
And i'm still drinkin'
MOney over everything
Money on the flo'
n***as talkin' sh**, i'll have them n***as at yo do'
We want everything, everything gold
Getting new money but my money old
[Hook/Chorus]