757

[Chorus]

"You think you the man?"

I'm like "Yeah."

Higher than that 757 in the air

Mama always told me "get that money by yourself"

I'm steady grinding and I'm going off the rails

[Verse 1: Billy Marchiafava]

Most these rappers hired ghost writers

I just ghost ride the whip

Riding dirty as it gets

Baby, Billy never miss

I'm not leaving the studio until I make a hit

Don't call me on my cell phone, unless we talking chips

'Cause Billy need that motherfucking mula

You trynna be the boss and it really don't suit ya

Nikes on my feet, but I've never been a hoopa

I tell these hoes call mе Mr. What's It To Ya

'Cause I got a bitch, I love that bitch

Stay out my DMs

I hit that flow switch

They don't know what lanе I'mma be in

I'm not a hype beast

That silly price tag don't mean shit

You bought a shirt, I bought a house

We are different

It's 6:30 in the morning

I'm still up and recording

I don't sleep, I'm never snoring

Your bitch call me, you boring

For breakfast I had breasts

And for lunch I'll have cake

By the time dinner comes around

I'll clean up my plate

[Chorus]

"You think you the man?"

I'm like "Yeah."

Higher than that 757 in the air

Mama always told me "get that money by yourself"

I'm steady grinding and I'm going off the rails

[Verse 2: Shotgun Willy]

Yeah

I spent three weeks of my summer

Drunk under the sun in Greece

Now I'm knee deep in the dumpster

And my gut hurt 'cause I'm so hungry

I just keep on getting dumber and dumber like Jim Carrey, uh

Sometimes I wonder if this rap shit just ain't for me

Bitch, let me breathe

Mom stopped visiting

Got caught popping a Flintstone vitamin, ouh

Non-stop listening to Bob Ross talk about fixing my image, like ouh

Head to the bank in a balaclava

I need my pockets fatter than Billy Marchiafava

[Verse 3: Billy Marchiafava]

Five bands in the Venmo

Ten bands in the Gmail

That's business, huh?

Everybody ask favors so my iPhone got a pager

Leave me 'lone

Got a new crib with a new elevator

I remember days wanting that razor home

And I boss up on 'em

Couldn't stay broke forever, had to leave like autumn

Three hundred million streams later

And I'm still just getting started

Analytics don't mean shit

If you can't play a show and rock shit

I'm 'boutta pop, bitch

And I made rock lap dance

And I make pop bitch

Yeah