(Intro)
Yeah, DJ Clue
To all the killers and the hundred-dollar billers
Ha-ha, to real ni**a’s who ain’t go no feelings
Check it out now, yeah

(Verse 1)
You got to f**k with my realness
I’m sick with it like I’m stuck with a illness
It ain’t luck that I’m still rich
Just more reason for me to tuck and conceal this
Your boy might have to hit a f**k ni**a kill switch
Snap right back to me standing in the projects
Baking soda, boxes son handing me the Pyrex
We was small then, but the plan was to be 5x
The world is yours plan, but, man, I need that Nas Lex
SC 400, that’s all your boy wanted
And the light skinned shorty from next door that’s fronting
She couldn’t see that I was that next boy or something
Maybe I just needed to flex more or something
Now I hit that f**king Rolex store for nothing
And I could teach ni**a’s, give lectures on stunting
And if I need a bi**h, I could text yours or something
Then she don’t see me the next tour tour or something
S**t crazy right, imagine me when I was twenty three
Riding through Brooklyn, realizing it’s only one of me
Notice that I’m who the wannabes want to be
It feeling like all of y’all don’t want none of me
In this kitchen, step back and watch the chef cook
My corner told me, counter jabs with a left hook
And give me mine, you don’t want to see my stress look
I drive through with the mask, looking like Westbrook
Cash me out, for the twenty Gs I’m in there
Now multiply it by how many times I been here
Forty Gs for the show with the in ears
Dog, I ain’t hit a ATM in ten years
There’s a difference in getting money and got money
I’m just a winner with a pocket full of pot money
I ain’t judging, baby, go and get that thot money
You better stay for a rainy day when it’s not sunny
You know ni**a’s change just like the weather
Get in one argument and just like, whatever
Meet a new bi**h who look just whoever
People saying, wasn’t they just, like, together?
My bi**h ass feel so soft just like my leather
Got a good head on her, I just like em clever
This life forever, f**k the lame, mad s**t
You wouldn’t look this good in the same ass fit
I’ll give it to you ni**a’s on some AIM Blast s**t
Then give it to your sons on some Dame Dash s**t, boy
You ni**a’s ain’t bosses anyway
A nine to five beat a tender life any day

(Chorus)
Get your money cause ain’t no thing as halfway crooks
You scared to death, you scared to look
You shook cause ain’t no thing as halfway crooks
You scared to death, you scared to look
You shook cause ain’t no thing as halfway crooks
You scared to death, you scared to look
You shook cause ain’t no thing as halfway crooks