[Intro: Curren$y]

Ugh

Yeah, yeah

Some of the good things that weed can do (Yeah, ha)

PSA, let me start shooting 'em fucking commercials

(Jets in the house) Yeah

Man (Yeah)

Yeah, bitch

[Verse: Curren$y]

I'm so cold with it; the potency of the beat—

Is consistent with the fact that Mos did it

Prolific, not shaken or stirred

In the presence of those niggas, herbs

They only after your bread, them fucking birds

You think they like your haircut, fair enough

Live your life, partner

Guess I could keep them two cents in my pocket

Add that to these underground-rap dollars

Refused the majors and stayed real, I kept my promise

Rolled Bambús in the Bahamas, mama

It's either that or them strawberry coladas

Xbox web browser

Download a updated NBA roster

Play a eighty-two-game season

Condo full of snacks, Spitta not leaving

Off-brand muh'fuckers, odd number, you are not even

On my level, write that sickness, my ink pen sneezing

Yancey Thigpen can't catch me sleeping

You ear-hustling, muhfucker, and I'm eating

Creeping with my side bitch, hope I don't get caught cheating

New Orleans this morning, New York in this evening

Squinting they eyes and shit, they can't see him

Fly in the hive, buzzing, them bugs can't be him

Illegible letters in my ledger, they can't read 'em

Smiling, money piling, I'm cheesing

Odometer broken, I ain't know that I was speeding

Fast living, sloe gin for these bitches

I got that game from my Pittsburgh nigga

SV Diablo '96, wings lift

Daniel-san, crane kick—wah!

[Outro: Mos Def]

You're the best around

You're the best around

You're the best around

You're the best