(Boy—, that's them, boy—)

And this bitch she want my bag, told her, "Get off of my back" (Fuck you, ****)

I was fucked up in that trap and I had to get off my ass

Still up in the trap, difference is I'm countin' cash

I think your ho tight, 'cause I get her then I dash

He said he want smoke and I'm gon' light, is you gon' match?

I might do 'em bad, 'cause he clutchin' on his bag

You just pump fake, pump fake, you ain't got no strap

You just pump fake, pump fake, all you do is lack

That bitch ran through, she ran through, I cannot cuff that gnat

When that pack touched down, yeah, you know I caught that

I push up all black, leave your favorite rapper flat

I told your mans to come get back, **** ain't spinnin' for shit

Swear you **** be thinkin' you him and that's how you **** get hit

Smokin' eighths to the face, I can't feel a thing

Ain't no ho on my mind, I could barely even think

If he push up to my crib, then I'm leavin' him six feet

All these bitches in my DMs, told them "Get off of my D"

I'm just worried 'bout me, and I'm worried 'bout my trap

I been on the same shit, but I cannot go back, yeah

I been on the same shit, but I cannot go back

She fuckin' my mans, you can't get your ho back

By the pound, I smoke that, yeah

She a thot, can't fuck with that, yeah

What's the deal? Like I got [max?], yeah

And this bitch she want my bag, told her, "Get off of my back"

I was fucked up in that trap and I had to get off my ass

Still up in the trap, difference is I'm countin' cash

I think your ho tight, 'cause I get her then I dash

He said he want smoke and I'm gon' light, is you gon' match?

I might do 'em bad, 'cause he clutchin' on his bag