Lyrics:

Zapp IV beneath the ashtray, woofers in the back
Water in the duals make loud glass pack
Gold tippytoes without a lick of chrome
Bought a set of vogues and left the, stickers on
Seven grand worth a buck for the trunks
Paid cash, all ones
Some old bitch came up to me and said, 'What's the latest bro?'
I said, 'I'm tryin' to have more chips than Las Vegas hoe'
She said, 'Can I roll with you? I get the dicks hard'
I said, 'You can work the strips and on my boulevard'
'How much would I make?' I said, 'Mega
Just bring me back my scrill scratch paper'
Heart heart money money street street hustle
Sex, drugs, smuggle, bubble
Horns, dialin, speakers, subbin
Sound just like the inside of a club-bin
How many times could a Conrad come so buttery?
Always on to' back have people lovin' me
Alcoholic drunk that ain't no gimmick B
I'm always in and out the Betty Ford clinic see
Drunk paraphernalia cream butterscotch
Illegal like a garbage of hover rocks
Workin off my pager you know the ropes I'm makin' that
Cabbage cornbread like Oprah
Diamond satch-uels from ja-fuckin-hoe
Pose just like a pimp smokin' a honey blunt
In a Major Way I tried to told ya
Niggaz have my shit fucked back in the days but now they know a
Sold a bunch of units underground
They was bumpin Save a Hoe in every town
Rumor has it that I died I got smoked main
But I'm alive, they was talkin' about somebody else main