Salute to all the hustlers, but a broke b**h make me sick (yeah)
For ghetto birthday, I might buy him a trap house up in london
Broke niggas make me sick and I see money when I vomit
Hope shorty never know I f**d her friend the same way
Long live Wop, he get the load and it be gone the same day
Pull up, bust down AP, this ho probably r**e me 'fore we make it home
We gon' spray his mama's spot, it's his fault she ain't safe at home
All this jewelry on my neck, n**a, I wasn't born shinin'
Feds wanna lock me 'cause I ball, I feel like Brittney Griner
Hold up, pointers in my ear, it's kind of hard to hear