[Verse 1: Boola]

First off, I'm clean, no need to wipe the dirt off

Alexander McQueen, scarf out of Bergdorf

XO the drink, cashmere under the mink

Soon as you blink you lose your ho from just a wink

Who the link? Bink, bitch, what you think?

Minus the ink, yeah, my shit talk and stink

Don't you smell the stench? New money got a scent

Offspring of a pimp, you can see it in my limp

Not in this to quit, I decide to go the length

My defense is my strength, for the money, niggas throw in the monkey wrench

Like I give a fuck, pardon my French

I don't want to hear shit unless you offering chips

Pardon my chain, pardon my wrist, pardon the 6

Took a mile but I started with an inch

Blew a stack on your bitch and I didn't even flinch

MVP of this shit and I started on the bench

[Verse 2: Maffew Ragazino]

Started on the bench like Kobe on the Lakers

Mark Cuban of the franchise I play for

Laughing to the bank, niggas skipping like Rafer

Grateful of God's grace, damn, I could have been a Pacer

A lot of niggas went home without the Chip

Close but no cigar, blame the gentleman on my kicks

Knees full of fluid like Ewing, Patrick

Commentating on how I ball like Stephen A. Smith

Humble nigga low key like a young Fritz

He enter with a broad but I left with that same bitch

Let that girl choose, I'm the chosen one

Guess I'm one lucky motherfucker like I'm Oprah's son

And a lefty too, Foamposites Pepsi blue

Polo'd out like Timeless Truth

Purple label designer suits

Handkerchief in the pocket, that's how mobsters do

[Verse 3: Mickey Factz]

Factz! Ortiz and Dubb Jeans

Broads holding doors open before the car leave

Japanese kicks had to pay mad paper

Just to pronounce them you probably need a translator

Hot flow-er, phone calls with stockbrokers

New Benz, I call it the droptop yoga

My car is sick, it's got glaucoma

We playing dice on a jet, I'm a high roller

Catch my man Boola with the paint boy

Jolie Redd look-a-likes down at St. Croix

Make noise because I'm what you call realer

Meetings at the moment with a private art dealer

Acres of plants out in Asia, stay in Japan

Waving at fans on the plane while I'm waiting to land

Paint in my hand, it's the new Warhol

It's uncalled for, your man is an All-Star

[Verse 4: Reek Da Villian]

Down in the grill, sandals and shorts, gun in my linen

Final leaf lit, play in the sand with a couple of women

I call that macking on the beaches with the bitches

Tomorrow it's to Brazil then Costa Rica for the weekend

These niggas talking that money they never see

Rapping about all them locations that they never be

I save the M's but I'm throwing out every D

And Mount Vernon bitches know me for slinging heavy D

I'm strung out, this frontrunner

I sound like Jay and Nas back in '98 Summer

Y'all niggas all fancy, I'm a '98 Hummer

Come through and turn you Range Rovers into Roadrunners, who the fuck want it?

Touch nothing, I just poly the deals

Send the connect to my youngins pop a molly and chill

Big bank, large cake, liquid dollars are mils

Safe so heavy to move it need a dolly with wheels

[Verse 5: Jon Connor]

Let's clear all the confusion, look at all that I'm doing

Best in the world, don't need a pencil to draw that conclusion

To the ones that don't like me, I give you thunder and lightning

Rain on your parade, I keep the rap game exciting

Here I am in the flesh, self proclaimed I'm the best

You can't fathom my love, my heart is as big as my chest

I'm the shit right now, why they keep saying I'm next?

Fly, I'm jetting past you niggas, that's a shoutout to Plax

I'd rather you hate me for being real, than love me for being fake

Run laps around rap niggas on tracks it keep me in shape

Hard body Colossus every time that I drop shit

Son you niggas, adoption, slowing down's not an option

Y'all see me shining, blind everybody that's watchin

I want the world like I'm telling God to spoil me rotten

I ain't happy til my competition gone and forgotten

Punch lines every time, check to see if they conscious

Connor!