Pulling up in that new toy
The wrist on that boy rockstar like Pink Floyd
Waving at rude boy, I’m waving at you, boy
Ran off on the plug too like Trugoy
Imagine me do, boy, you could never do what I do, boy
Still duckin’ shit that I did, boy
Niggas in Paris ‘fore Hit-Boy
This ain’t the same type of hits, boy
Shit can get litter than lit, boy
You don’t take these type of risks, boy
‘Cause this boy been throwing that D like Rich Boy
You missed, boy
Ya numbers don’t add up on the blow
That was ten years ago, if you know, you know (yeah)
If you know, you know
If you know, you know

This thing of ours, oh, this thing of ours
A fraternity of drug dealers ringing off
I just happen to be alumni
Too legit, they still lookin’ at me with one eye
The company I keep is not corporate enough
Child rebel soldier, you ain’t orphan enough
A rapper turned trapper can’t morph into us
But a trapper turned rapper can morph into Puff
Dance contest for the smokers
I predict snow, Al Roker (if you know, you know)
I only ever looked up to Sosa
You all get a bird, this nigga Oprah

Bricklayers in ball shorts
Coaching from the side of the ball court
(If you know, you know)
One stop like a Walmart
We got the Tennis balls for the wrong sport
(If you know, you know)
If you know ’bout the carport
The trap door supposed to be awkward
(If you know, you know)
That’s the reason we ball for
Circle around twice for the encore
(If you know, you know)

You ever been hit with the water weight
Then had to wait? Do you war or wait?
(If you know, you know)
When we all clicking like Golden State
And you and your team are the motorcade
(If you know, you know)
Been grantin’ wishes like a genie
To bad hoes in two-piece bikinis
I’ve been hidingwhere you can see me
The skybox is right next to RiRi’s
Soley responsible for showing rappers how to stand
On the front lines when trappers started throwing bands
Where were you when Big Meech brought the tigers in?
‘Cause I was busy earnin’ stripes like a tiger’s skin

Drug dealer Benzes with gold diggers in ’em
In elevator condos, on everything I love

This ain’t a wave or phase, ’cause all that shit fades
This lifestyle’s forever when you made
They tweet about the length I made ’em wait, what the fuck you expect?
When a nigga got a cape and he’s great
Oven’s full of cakes that he bakes, still spreading paste
The love just accentuates the hate
This is for my bodybuilding clients moving weight
Just add water, stir it like a shake
Play amongst the stars like the roof in the Wraith
Get the table next to mine, make our bottle servers race

These are the games we play, we are the names they say
This is the drug money your ex-nigga claim he makes

To all of my young niggas, I am your Ghost and your Rae
This is my Purple Tape, save up for rainy days
And baby mama wishes, along with the side bitches
They try to coexist, end up wishing you’d die, bitches
Stood on every couch, in the A at the black party
No jewelry on, but you richer than everybody
You laugh a little louder, the DJ say your name a little prouder
And we don’t need a globe to show you the world is ours
We can bet a hundred thousand with my safe hold
My numbers lookin’ like a bank code

These are the games we play, we are the names they say
This is the drug money your ex-nigga claim he makes

Ain’t no stoppin’ this champagne from poppin’
The draws from droppin’, the laws from watchin’
With Ye back choppin’, the cars and the women come with options
Caviar facials remove the toxins
This ain’t for the conscious, this is for the mud-made monsters
Who grew up on legends from outer Yonkers
Influenced by niggas Straight Outta Compton, the scale never lies
I’m 2.2 incentivised
If you ain’t energized like the bunny for drug money
Or been paralyzed by the sight of a drug mummy
This ain’t really for you, this is for the Goya Montoya
Who said I couldn’t stop, then afforded me all the lawyers
The only kingpin who ain’t sinkin’
Chess moves are made, my third eye ain’t blinkin’
Stay woke, nigga, or get out
Still pull them whips out, still spread the chips out
Might buy your bitch some new hips and yank her rib out
The message in this music, all my niggas had to live out

Never trust a bitch who finds love in a camera
She will fuck you, then turn around and fuck a janitor
Set the parameters
You either with the pro ballers or the amateurs
I won’t let you ruin my dreams or Harvey Weinstein the kid
Good morning, Matt Lauer, can I live?
Look at my new digs
The rooftop can host a paint and sip for like forty
The Warhols on my wall paint a war story
Had to find other ways to invest
‘Cause you rappers found every way to ruin Pateks
It’s a nightmare, yeah
I’m too rare amongst all of this pink hair, ooh
Still do the Fred Astaire on a brick
Tap tap, throw the phone if you hear it click
Art Baselin’ the bezel
Your bustdown is bust down and don’t match the metal
Lower level’s where you settle at
I’m the pot callin’ the kettle black
Where there’s no brick peddles at
Between God and where the Devil’s at
Had to double dutch and double back
Then hopscotch through where the trouble’s at
Exactly what the game’s been missin’
This fire burns hot as Hell’s Kitchen, Push

Now that’s how the team go, I’m back from Santo Domingo
That’s where the kings go, down in Santo Domingo
Now that’s how the team go, back from Santo Domingo
This for the sneaker hoarders and coke snorters
‘Cause that’s where the kings go, down in Santo Domingo
From Honda Accords to Grammy awards

I can blow a million dollars into dust (That’s where the kings go)
Lord knows how many bottles I’ve done bust
Still runnin’ through the models like I’m Puff
Confront my problems like I’m Ralo in the bluff
Pusha know these politics is paradox
Chillin’ in a condo full of ready rock
My homie amputated but gon’ stand for somethin’
I’m dyin’ to find a way to get a Grammy from it (Maybach Music)
Watchin’ my success for some is bittersweet
Always keep the sharpshooter’s triggers tweaked
Diamonds drippin’ on me, V in Tiffany’s
All these K-9 units still sniffin’ me
Ignorance versus the innocence
It’s not the temperature for you in Timberlands
I keep the coldest flows on the hot seat
And you can spot my hoes by their car keys
Another episode full of atrocities
It’s double M, baby, money monopolies (Maybach Music)
You scared to see my face in a fancy place
So I debate my case vs. a Nancy Grace
It’s flesh and blood ’til I’m fresh as fuck
Still hands on, sucker, press your luck
Your money gone every other month
My money long so the treasure’s tucked