YMCMB, bitches call me “Tunechi Li”
I be with niggas that shoot police
I keep that iron, you can get creased
And if she say she didn’t fuck—bitch, you’re lying through your teeth
They say, “It cost to be the boss”
The ones in jail wish they were free
Niggas call me “Hi-C” because I’m high, as you can see
Niggas say they paid they dues; well, I’m checking your receipt
Might as well go stupid since this is a stupid beat
Grab the owl out the tree, and ask that bitch, “Who but me?”
Got your bitch bent over, nigga—hands to her feet
Tell that pig and that cow I’ll go ham if it’s beef
‘Cause all my niggas well rounded
Don’t fuck with none of these square niggas
Mask on, Ghostface Killah, draw down and erase niggas
I’m a Blood, is you a blood donor? Swisher full of that California
I hit it sideways: caddy-corner
Then she catch that nut like pneumonia—Lil Tunechi!

Lay it down, ho (Haha), lay it down, bitch
Lay it down, ho, lay it down
Lay it down, lay it down, you hoes lay it down
Lay it down, lay it down, you hoes lay it down
Put the money on the couch, nigga
Give me everything up in your house, nigga, shut your mouth, nigga
Put the money on the couch nigga
Give me everything up in your house, nigga, shut your mouth, nigga (Yeah)

Start it up: vroom, vroom
Uppercut a bitch out the bus: boom, boom
Unless I get the brain: pum-pum
She let a nigga run and get the gang, run a train: zoom-zoom
Tryna get paid too soon, one deep
One sweep away in a room-room
We getting money over here, talking shit and fucking bitches
I don’t know what the fuck they doing, Tune
My syrup purple, my turf Earth, my birth circle, I’ll dirt surf you
I squirt-murk you, my verse hurtful
My shooters still got curb curfews
Y’all bout as hot as Von Dutch, y’all not gone harm much
Hijack y’all some prom bus; ain’t no retreat but my arms up
No graffiti, my bombs up
It’s Young Money in this shit until a nigga dead and gone
If you wanna set it off, what you wanna bet it on?
I’m betting the wedding’s off when e’erything wetted on
Point ’em out, Truk your life, fuck your style
Fuck with me, you a bucket foul
Niggas’ll buck your smile for a dunking pile
You better duck it, pal

Lay it down ho (Yeah), lay it down bitch (And I smoke)
Lay it down ho, lay it down (Lil Tunechi)
Lay it down, lay it down, you hoes lay it down
Lay it down, lay it down… (Hahaha, mhm)

Shawty, what’s your name? Is you trickin’? Is you paying?
Is you sniffin’ on that ‘caine? What the fuck, is you saying?
If you getting it, then you getting it
It’s my money, I ain’t splitting it
I ain’t tripping it, if she got a fat ass, then I’m tipping it (Tipping it)
Came out the bank—Bye, teller!” Give a bum money—”Hi, fella!”
Bad lil’ ho, high-yellow, brand new Rolie, Sky Dweller
Just left from Dubai, flew private-eye
I made a million dollars, swear to God, that ain’t no lie
I said, them niggas was popping, fake niggas be watching
My black glove be dripping wet, but I got my Cochran
Losing ain’t no option, I’m teaching bitches my doctrine
The Maybach ain’t poppin, if it ain’t got no par-tah-tion
Oops, I mean “partition”; it’s all a part of my vision
I sit and count this money while I watch you bitches audition
I said, “Oops, I mean ‘partition,; it’s all a part of my vision
I sit and count this money while I watch you bitches audition,” hehehe

Fuck wrong with you bitches?
I don’t give a fuck
You don’t hear me, you don’t see me—bitch, you gon’ feel me, ho
Young Money, Young, Young Money nigga
Young, Young—lay it down, lay it down, you hoes lay it down
Lay it down, lay it down, you hoes lay it down, aah!