Call me Dracula ’cause all I do is count chips
Young money mini, I ain’t talking ’bout the Mouse trick!
These girls running like I just threw the bouquet
They know I’m headed to the top like a toupee
Now all these bums is wondering where I be’s at
If you ain’t a Barbie, it’s none of ya freaking bees wax
These little rappers I can see them in my dash cam
I know they’re grouchy like Oscar up out the trash can
I’m on stage, you can sit in the crowd
I be up in Lear jets, take a left at the cloud (Ha ha)
I think she need the Heimlich, she’s the chokin’ kind
She gets no burn, no smoking sign (Yeah!)
Metaphor heaven
So they approve Nicki like my credit score seven
Mac and cheese, six, fried chicken the guts
And I’m killing these bitches
Mike Vickin’ it up, Chyeah!