[Intro]

Ah, let the thirty-day countdown begin, man

In the studio every motherfuckin' day

I told y'all, man, the hunger is real

Been doin' this shit too long, man

Seems I got to take these niggas to school

Eight albums, let's go

[Verse 1]

Luda, class is in session

For the little nigga from Atlanta with the light complexion

Steppin' on the track and (-) the verse

Puttin' rappers in a hearse, this my profession

I keep 'em guessin', don't nobody want to test them

If you don't want 'em up in your baby momma

Somebody better find a way to arrest him

You handcuff him, I dance, sucker

Keep that pussy to a pole, then I let my man fuck her

I'm gone, I'm trippin', I'm high of that medicine

Know that strong, that sticky, that critical condition

It's Lil' Fate, it's Luda and Drizzer down all together, man

Yeah, we smoke some buddha

Was cool, but now we feel better, man

I got hella game and hella dollars

Traded in that Range and just got three Impalas

Rollin' like a G and bendin' corners on Ds

Steady countin' Ms with bank accounts overseas

Splittin' open Bs and droppin' the top on Vs

Other rappers countin' Zs, but they bitches pop them Ps

[Outro]

Ah, pop it, pop it, pop it

Oh, man, I'm havin' too much fuckin' fun, man

Ludaversal March 31

I'm a drill it into your head until you doze the fuck off, man

Let's go, movie comin' the same week

Yeah, and just wait for it