[Intro]

(Hey, what's good, Trou?)

Uh, uh

[Chorus]

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrist

Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"

And she ain't my type, nah, still hit

Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick

They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?

He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"

They like, “Oh my God, he still lit

He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"

[Verse 1]

Been gifted since a toddler, I'm drippin', call the doctor

Love sippin' on that Wocka, on the strip with all my shottas

Label buildings talkin' proper, keep stick like Harry Potter

For real, we bury oppers, he get shells like Larry Lobster, uh

Liu Kang, kick it in that Mulsanne, we made him a new strain

Jordan in the Flu game, ballin'

Call me Bruce Wayne, pull up in that coupe thang

Make her wanna lose brain, she ate me like I was on the food chain

Finished, sike, nah, I could never quit

He thought he was funny, forty rock him, Will Smith

And you thought he was hard? He a real bitch

We like NLMB 'cause we really kill shit

[Chorus]

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrist

Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"

And she ain't my type, nah, still hit

Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick

They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?

He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"

They like, “Oh my God, he still lit

He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"

[Verse 2]

Like who is he? I don't know him

He tempt me, I'ma show him

Heard he keep glizzy on him and put lean in every soda

Uh, he be heavy smokin' and he be desi blowin'

We blick, he belly rollin', tryna leave his buddy soakin', uh

Cash flow, treat her like a asshole

I stay with a fat roll, keep on running past go, money on him

Maxo, he love lettin' Gats blow, he hot like Tabasco

Hop right out the back and put twenty on him

[Bridge]

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrist

Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"

And she ain't my type, nah, still hit

Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick

[Chorus]

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrist

Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"

And she ain't my type, nah, still hit

Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick

They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?

He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"

They like, “Oh my God, he still lit

He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"