Yes!
What it look like, Alc’?
I’m tryna show these niggas, man
It’s that Street Fam, man, we rep that (ha ha ha ha!)
Loso! Street fi-di-di-di-dam (Yes!)

Yo, I’m with 101 niggas, we Dalmatian-doggy-deep (Yes)
And fly with the tongue, so if you’re feeling froggy, leap (C’mon)
Kermit, you better think before you ribbit
Don’t get murdered over your song before you ad-lib it
I pop up like Xzibit (Yeah), but given I’m at your crib, it’s (Yeah)
Not to put no fucking fish tanks in your Civic (Nah)
Fuck getting your ride pimped, you’ll get hog-tied, wimp
Have you in the trunk curled up like fried shrimp (ha ha ha ha)
It’s been a good year, maybe I should ride blimp (What you think?)
‘Cause your boy just stay above the game
They tryna tag him, spray a brother frame
But your shots can’t reach me, I’m way above your aim, ha
Go ‘head, nigga, say another name
Take this family for a joke (Ay), play them Wayan-brother games
And I’ma Git You Sucka, I be scheming with this Keenan (That’s right)
Aiming with this Damon, I’m putting that Major Payne in (Oh)
My Little Man is on you, Marlon and Shawn you (Yeah)
Lay the beef on his noodle, make some Luger lasagna
Forty-cal fettuccine, trey-pound pasta
You reach for this medallion, you must like Italian, nigga
You only see me pushing if the driver’s tired (Yes!)
I work the S6 ever since the 5 retired (Yes!)
The drop-top, they say it’s Ocean-Drive-inspired
So you can call a cab once your bitch fall for Fab

Ugh, I get money like a motherfucker
Shades darker than a bitch, but I can see
I got everything, you got nothing
But you ain’t got nothing on me
Oh, I’m getting money like a motherfucker (Mr. HD)
Yeah, money you ain’t never see (High definition)
Yeah, I got everything, you got nothing (That’s how I’m coming at you niggas, you dig? Santana! Ay!)
But you ain’t got nothing on me (ha ha ha!)

I’m on the grind ’til the police come (Yeah)
With that pistol on my side, boy, don’t be dumb (Ha), or
I let that semi twirl you (Get ’em); now you can follow the drip
‘Cause one shot out of the clip’ll Jheri-curl you (Ooh)
Leave you sloppy like seconds, obey me like peasants
Or get opened up like presents—please!
My young boys wilding for respect
Slit your throat, have you smiling with your neck, say “cheese” (Ha)
My dough’s a bit longer (Yup), my flow is just slaughter (Yup)
My wrist look like frozen Poland Spring water (Damn)
So tell me, boys, tell me, boys, who you think you’re messing with? (Who?)
I get money out the ass, that’s some expensive shit (Ill!)
Haven’t you all heard? (What?) Y’all all herbs (Yup!)
I stick toothpicks (Where?) in y’all hors d’oeuvres
(Listen) I’m a shark, y’all just koi fish
(What else?) Octopus (What else?) Oysters (ha ha!)
Chump! I got my eye on your wifey now (Yeah!)
I have her lick me up (Up!) and then wipe me down (Down!)
She told me you’s a nag, you’s a bug (Damn!)
She told me I’m a blast, I’m a stud (Damn!)
She told me you’d be beasting, you’d be checking for the burns
So I gave her knee pads for the rug (ha ha!)
It’s Skull Gang from the chain to the lifestyle
You surfboard dudes get wiped out—totally

Ugh, oh, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Shades darker than a bitch, but I can see
I got everything, you got nothing
But you ain’t got nothing on me
Oh, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Yeah, money you will never see
Yeah, I got everything, you got nothing (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
But you ain’t got nothing on me (Uh-huh, check me out)

Get you—three, four—get you
Like the number after one, I’ma get me, too
It’s Weezy F.U. Now, you gotta have a baby
My money don’t folds nor bends—Mercedes
Maybach, grey-black
And I got a four-four and a ‘K, like eight stacks
Fuck your city and your town, I state facts—Take that!
No, better yet, like Diddy: “Take that”
Wait—rats, I hate rats, I clean ’em out like Ajax
Got paper like a fax machine, asi-neen
Damn I mean asinine, I’m dapper don, and after mine
There will be nine, damn I mean, there will be none
I will be one of the greatest things you’ve ever felt
You’ve ever seen or heard, Carter, Harvard, y’all scared
Not me, not I, call me “Young Popeye”
Tell Bluto I’m a Nuno, I bring RAL to your funeral
Damn, I mean “funeral”, “funeral”
You say “tomato”, I say “tomato”
You say “get ’em”, I say “got ’em”—yeah, I got ’em!
Man, you better keep paying me ’cause you don’t want my problems
I be wilding like Capital One—what is in your wallet?
You fly, but what is it to pilot?
Weezy—I’m at the top, foot up in your bottom
Huh, damn, I mean “foot up in your ass”
I kick that shit, now go and put it in the trash

Deezle! Ugh, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Shades darker than a bitch, but I can see
I got everything, you got nothing
But you ain’t got nothing on me
Yeah, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Yeah, money you will never see
Yeah, ugh, ugh
And you ain’t got nothing on me
Yeah, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Shades darker than a bitch, but I can see
I got everything, you got nothing
But you ain’t got nothing on me
Yeah, I’m getting money like a motherfucker
Yeah, big money, nigga
Big money, nigga, big money, nigga
Yeah, and you ain’t got nothing on me