[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