[Intro: Pharrell]

Yeah, uh-huh

I know how hustlers think, man

I grew up 'round them niggas

Check it... aiyyo –

[Verse 1: Pharrell]

We coupe hoppers, twenty-in-a-group shoppers

Don't look at the watch unless you got blue blockers

BBC boat-wear, niggas is true yachters

I got an MBA in how-to-ball

Surrounded by niggas that sell more powder than y'all

Standing like statues and they proud when they fall

Til then, they selling dope 'round the calen–dar

They pull a hundred grand up to valet at the mall

Walking slow, like it's a Hype Williams video

Jacob's well paid, they ears got a crispy glow

Face like, "Fuck the world, give me hoes"

So you racking up on everything with pretty toes

And fresh BAPEs, looking like colored chalk and

Fat ass, bow-legged, like she just started walking

Pass it your man, so he can get the number

Once she says her name and where the fuck she come from

She got hope in her eyes, like she wanna go far

Like Hollywood somewhere, but your chain got the stars

You walk in with the His, she trying Her's

She's dying of thirst, you nice with the words

She's fine with the work, so you buying the furs

When you get outside, the bitch died, the Flying Spur

Bentley four-doors from the corridors

From your young stunnas, they your couriers

Later on, you think of them, when you toast in the VIP

Gun on the hip, just in case a nigga set trip

[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what the dope men used to say

Bringing cocaine in the jam

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what all the dope men say

Bringing cocaine in the jam

[Verse 2: Pusha T]

Twenty-two niggas, two to a car

Eleven flagships with the three-point star

The only other ballers is them three-point stars

We only 5'9", they think we point guards, ha

No jumper, still at the top of the key

No wonder, they thought we was shooting them threes

Throw numbers, sell it for the deuce and the three

Like Air Jordan, it's all in the wrist, turning keys

Your modern day Chardonnay sippers

We throwin' up our middles, screaming "Fuck them other niggas"

We spit it out, like '94 Diddy on them niggas

Ain't worried 'bout the cost, we know the hoes is countin' figures

The games of the rich kids, we know what the tricks is

We turn our backs, so we can fuck each other's bitches

The lifestyle of the rich and right now

Any Given Sunday in the kitchen, white clouds―Poof!

[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what the dope men used to say

Bringing cocaine in the jam

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what all the dope men say

Bringing cocaine in the jam

[Verse 3: Malice]

I lean like the tower, balancing the 'caine

Never thought I'd ever have to touch this residue again

Me being me, don't even count it as a shame

I'm the Clipse, I done been learned to dance when it rain

Like the Gospel song, "I Won't Complain"

But I won't watch niggas cash in on my pain

Not Jessie grandson, every gram slung

A testament to my momma's tears, losing her first son

Wanna know the real? Coke never been the deal

Never glorified that, just the character it built

The game's real and you find out quick

When you want the Bentley, the Porsche ain't shit

Not a chain from Jacob, what I need is a wake up

And this pain my heart got the weight of an anchor

And still, I thank the good Lord for health

And the peace that you get when you right with yourself

[Chorus: Pharrell Williams]

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what the dope men used to say

Bringing cocaine in the jam

"Come go with me –

I make you feel right"

That's what all the dope men say

Bringing cocaine in the jam