(INTRO)
I think it a far and true statement to say
That ain’t no n888a out here gone out hustle me man
Not, not out here in these streets, man nah
I been doing this too long and too strong (FRE$H488!)
You got to come get it if you want it
(Chorus)
My crew be on it bro
I can’t lie, we just want paper, want paper
To be total honest fool, we just here
To pull off some capers, some capers
Get from round me dude
If you ain’t here
To stack up dat paper, dat paper
I just want Cheese Cake, Chips, Green
Player you know what I mean
X2
(Verse One)
I’m balling, I’m balling
Can’t you see I’m balling
So I won’t stop, I can’t stop
This game it just keep calling
So I will, I will, keep pushing for my pesos
Fu*k what you heard, them ni**as nerds
Sounding absurd, we are that word
Pushing dat turf
Ooohhh, hot boy in these hot times
They running off that slick talk
Then it mess around and be yo time
Keep dat sweeper clean it up in no time
Accept no disrespect or no hoe time
Get dat chin in check and that’s on mines
You ain’t go do sh*t, sit there like bit*h
Who popping like this
Ooohhh, H-Town and we on one
We popping bottles, got plenty girls
Gone VIP it some other time
We got thick em girls and it going down
When they spread em wide it’s like sunshine
Got boys face-timing they main chick
Like baby ain’t never ever come round
Push, push, push, I don’t see nothing but bush
These girls they just want to play, so I
Stick em down, lick em down, flip em round
Then I oops in they face
Then back, back on the block or the highway
Getting, getting to the money real boss way
Its Fabalon uckfay, ouyay
You n***as never really liked my sh*t no way
(Chorus X2)
(Verse Two)
Talk to me, talk to me
Make it fast though
Paper be calling for me, can’t hold it up
I be telling these people
You got to hit while the hitting is good
That ain’t no bull, that ain’t no feces
Hold up, count my sh*t
This ain’t no three piece, before I get down the street
I just want eat the pu**y up, tell these girls it ain’t Fabalon enough
Yeah, ain’t none of you ni*8as off in my lane
I guess the guapo, the guapo’s to blame
We sit different, we ain’t cut cloth the same
Ain’t your fault your O.G. is to blame
He was bit*h so you spit the same
Talking bout years upon years upon game
Ain’t no way in hell you can beat me an Fame
I can rock it for the hoes
Out of pocket for my bros
We ain’t tripping on no doe
Bout it, bout it, tally hoe
Blocka, blocka, those opposed
Just so that you know
Too fat to go toe to toe
30 cal drum Ocean of soul
Get this MF cracking like whoa
Talk him off the ledge no
You disrespected my woes
Fabalon gang, gang, gang
Disrespect will bang, bang, bang
In and out this MF like yeah
Stick and move, jab, dip it ain’t fare
Getting to tripping shoot, shine on them ni**as
Blue coupe all I ever had, kept dark skin chick on my neck
We flexing baby what you know about that
Hot damn!
(Chorus x2)