[Verse]
Haters keep lookin' at my car, it is a Volvo
Black and tan ultra X90
They livin' in blindfold, they born and they die old
Envision the coach tips, mission in brunch fit
Road to the step six, foot on my haters' neck
Super set bench press, dips with a weighted vest
No moment is meaningless, six figures, six weeks
My money ain't skin deep, your money is Twitter tweets
Your Twitter ain't grand flex, my checks are deposited
My culture's so positive, you negative, come earn you a scholarship
Don't you like Richard Mille? Wanna know how that band feel?
Don't you want leg press? My culture ain't gatekеpt
You can be coach too, you can be anything
Lookin' at me sting if I wеre you as me
Penthouse, the top floor, Miami, the ocean nights
Dubai on a private flight, you can have private chef
The grip on your bench press, six figure coach tips
Remember your membership, remember how haters plan
Scanning your Instagram, they see you in Cancun
Mountains in geopark, they see an ocean road
Literally worlds apart, my culture is all yours
McLaren with wing doors, they say my money's fake
They hatin', 'bout to faint, smell the sauce, stay awake
I'm sorry, it's no dream, subscribe to the winning team
Subscribe, you can join too, the money gets blown through
You can have women too, you can buy Jimmy Choo
You can buy Cartier, Louboutin, Fendi
Six figure coach, you can catch me in Bentley
You can take shahada, not feeling so empty
Tell me what country, what country's a city
I like the BK, the lounge full of bitties
Don't drink, don't smoke, they trying to trick me
Get ready with me, get dressed and watch the real
After put Richard Mille, tell me how you feel
Check in on comment, your Comet is rented
Yesterday back in, stretch when I'm lifting
Stretch, lifting, roach and the riches, addicted
Everything I said, I really meant it
Everything mentioned, Lambo to penthouse
Taking you shopping, Back Bay and waterfront
We can heal Boston, armed security
Haters take caution, you tired, exhaustion
I'm feeling awesome, booking a seaport
South End, Boston
Promise you'll get paid, you pussy and bitchmade
Say if you had it all when you in eighth grade
Wiping yourself clean, T-shirts and even jeans
Even your pillowcase sticking to your face
How does yourself taste? Man, you a gross dude
Eating grandmother's food, feeling so confused
Six figures, six steps, grip on your bench press
Grip 'til you fall asleep, stuck to your top sheets
Those weren't clean socks, you put 'em back in the drawer
Run outta everything, clean up with cardboard
Treat yourself too rough, now you can coach stuff
Finally be a man, said that you had enough
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