[Verse 1: Quilly]

Let's ball!

Hypothetically speaking, practice what I'm preaching

All my bitches foreign and my son's half rican

The wave'll turn a good girl bad, start tweakin'

Fuck me right now, I'm only here for the weekend

Pockets full of nothing but green cuz I'm a vegan

Niggas' don't want no beef, they all vegan

I be in the streets with Demons, all heathens

If it's on sight where I catch him, I'ma leave him

Book bag filled with blow; Lance Stephens

It's always a nigga that's clamin' he not eatin'

Do me one favor my nigga, stop breathin'

I give a bitch dick and hope, stop reachin'

Ballin' so hard, you hear the screech from my sneakers

When it get cold, book flights, change seasons

Wonder why niggas' is salty, Quilly seasoned

Hotter than a cayenne pepper with chilli season

Wait, let me vent, I'm steal steaming

Do it for the people that doubted and ain't believe him

They want me upstate with browns, I ain't from Cleveland

I make the song cry, fill my pain, speakers bleeding

I lost niggas', my heart broke, I'm still grieving

I don't owe a nigga a penny, we broke even

Floatin' in my inpala, thinkin' bout my next dollar

I really want the wraith, but for now I'm in a squatter

Do it for the times I trapped for a pair of Pradas

I'm a dad, not a baby father

A big difference from a mother and a baby mamma

I see life through my third eye; Illuminati

Bitches like "Quilly hot but he too cocky"

I hit you with the 08' or the new Shotty

My lil' cousin 22, caught two bodies

I'm fuckin bitches, first 48, just caught a new body

I be smellin' like Creed, Quilly the new Rocky

Rappers be catchin' the bus, talkin bout Bugattis

They tryna dress like me, fuckin' up pack money

I hit a lick last week, you think it's rap money

Young bol, I'll make your ol' head trap for me

In the trap spot, make your baby mom bag for me

I feel bad sellin' crack to my community

That's why I'm always giving back to the community

I get money round the clock, money keep clockin'

I pop percs, sip lean til' my teeth rotten

My life's like a motion picture, bitch keep watchin'

I never ran out of money, so I keep shoppin'

Keep plottin; Eddy, I got the Semi

Good times, burn with the iron like Penny

Nigga, everything Fendi, even my sheets

I threw some paper in Atlanta, and got back in a week

Then took a trip to Bel-Air, rest in peace Uncle Phil

My block poppin' with gold tops like Dru Hill; Sisqo

Cookies like Nabisco, let it turn to olive oil

Came back Crisco!