[Intro: Larry June]
And nigga, I don’t glamourise none of that shit
But nigga, when you’re back to the wall, what you gon’ do, nigga?
You gon’ get it by any means
[Verse 1: Larry June]
I hit my nigga Spitta, like it's time to make classics
If I cop that SS, then I’ma keep that bitch classy
As the money get bigger, then the whips get faster
I’ma water all my plants and watch my eighty-inch plasma
Built the studio in the Bay just to record my shit
I might matte the Six orange, and leave it parked in the city
Big mojitos on the island, I had to dip real quick
I ain't tryna have a kid, but you can be my (hahaha)
Excuses never got me shit, bitch, I'm a grown ass man
You know I went to Angel City and dropped like thirty on this
I get my watches out the box like my Nikes and shit
I'm spittin' facts on these tracks and steady mackin’ a bitch, what's happenin'?
How you doing, baby, you look like something I can fuck with
I love it when you wear your hair like that, let's have lunch, bitch
I been crushin' for a minute so I just had to get ya
So I’ma slide in your DM like, "what's happenin' wit ya?"
[Verse 2: Curren$y]
I was stoned and uninterested, she tellin' her life story
I'm thumbin' through my phones, pretendin' to be listenin'
My radar went off though, when this hoe mentioned the dividends
And contributin' heavy, only to gain membership
In this family I'm buildin' here, I flew her with me to the Bay
To meet my homie, Larry J, we stayed for a couple days
She was bait, and brung me back a couple strays
Say they tryna get with it
Wouldn’t put this in my lyrics, if this shit was fictitious
You can't get her to wash the dishes
I had her fuckin’ and stripping, that's cold fa sho
But that also how it go, respect the laws, dawg, baby chose
Runnin' her fingers cross the ceiling of my Rolls
Touchin' the stars, this the yellow brick road, bitch
Go and get ours, in the booth laying truth
Over bass, drums snares and flutes
Floatin' in one spot, like a yacht at the dock, till the money call out
And put the spoon to the pot, time to count up
Mama, show me how much you love you got
Exitin' the stash house, fishtailin', driftin' in somethin' expensive
On another mission, dollar-sign vision, champagne sippin'
[Verse 3: Berner]
Jamaican rum with some fresh mint from our garden
I hit the forty lighter with some cookie fan pollen
Why your baby mama callin'? She keep callin'
Yeah she know what I like, and it's flights out to Boston, yeah
Dirty Bay water, and that fog for the bosses
While we choppin' up game, we ain't takin' no losses
I got C's around my neck, ain't no Jesus piece or crosses
And this weed in my bag are all brand new crosses
In my driveway, I got four or five different options
Dirty strippers in my ear tryna fuck
Without no condoms
Big mojito shit, burn, bury cash in different countries
Fell in love with drug money, bitches pay me just to suck me
Used to slap 11/5 and keep Vegas in rotation
Now we spend a mil’ in Ibiza, just for motivation
Eight days of vacation, I'm on Chuck Chillout
Break the kush down, pull another pill out
