[Verse 1]
Tell a mother f**er who's hating on me
I ain't heard a damn thing
I worked to f**ing hard for this money for anybody to take it from me
And made my own damn lane
‘Cause it's too many b**hes getting bigger bu*ts and kids that just don't give a f**
And all them be on Molly, it's feeling like we don't feel enough
We just get number and number, the music's dumber and dumber
But ask a kid in Chicago, they had the cruelest of summers
Yet G.O.O.D Music makes the club pop
And I ain't hating ‘cause I was there going dumb again
Wiggle, wiggle, wigglin, listenin to some party rock
Talking to some b**hes and tryna dip out the spot with them
A walking contradiction to the maximum
I strive to be different but talking sh** in your raps is fun
A million emcees tryna make it
f** a blog, if I want it, I'mma take it
[Hook]
It's getting hard for a n***a to live
Wait ‘til I get my money right
It's getting hard for a n***a to live
Well can I live?
Tell a bougie b**h that be stuntin on me
I probably f**ed her best friend
And trust, when I'm rich, I'll tell that same b**h to go and count my money
But she'll never reach the end
And that is why we're hustlin, don't care about some custom rims
Just want to say no to every girl that done said no to him
After that, I'll probably just get back to spittin acid raps
But first I gotta stack some cash to get up out this habitat
Cause when you're broke living, considering dope dealing
Happiness is a long way gone
And that's such a bad feeling when all your n***as is chilling
But I swear I ain't going back home
‘Cause I promised momma I'd get her a mansion and Bently
And I swore I'd pay my brother back for everything he's spending
Yo pops don't worry, I'll get the money for your movies
Til then I ain't worried bout a groupie