Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', J's runnin' out it
Rich Homie baby! (DJ Drama!)
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', double back for me
I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talm bout Quan?) Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men, run it back for me
Like a daddy, cul-de-sac money
Money comin' faster, bitches gettin' thicker
Watchin' over my back cause niggas get quicker
Got some bubblegum and hard dick for his sister
Cause food stamps is all she get from the system
She like fuck them niggas but they can't do this shit for her
What your issue? You make nathan off this comma
Blazin' off this ganja while standin' in this circle
Slangin' to your momma, while Stefan geeked on Urkel
And that cul-de-sac still fool me
That cul-de-sac never sleep
In that cul-de-sac we movin'
Ain't nothin' get past me
And I stop cross, call it short stop
You talk small, call it short guap
I eat beef like a pork chop
What you talkin' bout nigga? Cul-de-sac
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', double back for me
I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money
My bitch she just be from London
She ain't pronouncin' nothin'
Yeah we can work on the stove top
Turn a little to somethin'
Met a little bitch, she lit me up
And found out it was the 3rd cousin
Met a little bitch, she let me up
And found out it was the 3rd cousin
Know a couple niggas in some fucked up situations
Gettin' 40%/60%, change your occupation
Got a couple riders with me, Harley Davidson
Coulda had three of 'em but turned to eight of 'em
Models bitches with a zero
Tapin' bricks to her stomach just to add a little weight on 'em
Niggas dyin' left and right like my head
Know in the trap be a man for the bands
Call my older brother Top, uh
Grind ran on you with number nine, uh
Little brother, he servin' time
I just hope he don't even lose his mind
I ain't the richest but I'm in line
Speakin' of lines, my girl sniffin' lines
Then line after line, got product like designs
And you catch a dime, got six in the clip
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', double back for me
Like a dead end, cul-de-sac money
Hold on, dollar signs on commas, on motherfuckin' commas
This cannon on me now, lil nigga you do not want this drama
I need that cash, that fetti, that lucci
Need my retribution or else we start shootin'
Them choppers go off, make your block sound like New Years
S O X gang, I do not need a new pair, hold up
I done put stacks in the holes in my walls
If you touch 'em with cinnamon, it's holes in your face
PSA for all you pussy ass niggas who hate
Get off my dick and go get the cake
I got my hand on the grain and my foot on the gas
I have no use for a break
I feel like Michael Corleone with the graves
I feel like JJ right after the bay
Better watch what you say bout me
Cause I keep gunners around, hoe play bout me
Niggas phony, tryna act like we homies but barely know me
If you don't want the money then boy you ain't around me
Ain't nothin' fake about me
I put killers on they feet, down to spray 'bout me
We poppin' tags but them niggas pop shit
We gon' pop in these mags, let the AK scream
Talkin' big money, boy it come in thousands
Trap house bunkin', Js runnin' out it
Twelve saw me comin', double back for me
I supply my neighbor cul-de-sac money
(Whatchu talm bout Quan?) Cul-de-sac money
Make so much that twelve double back for me
All I stack are dead men, run it back for me
Like a daddy, cul-de-sac money