Lyrics:

Ft. Kevin Gates & Juicy J

(Hook x2)
I'm ballin' ballin' ballin' bitch
Don't know what else to call it, shit!
All these dollas I brought with me
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit

(Verse: Starlito)
I started off fucked up, finally got my weight up
Still tryna figure out, what the fuck ya hating fo?
When I come around it feel just like an appraisal
Independent nigga gettin' it in just like the majors
Countin' thru the check feel like a nigga turning pages
If ya were cool ya ain't no more, you've done us both a favor
Eighties baby, grew up on a pistol and a pager
Got a free quarter ounce, I bet a hunid on the Lakers
I should say against em, ya know I'm ridin' with the heat
With the karma stole my box Chevy
Box of rubbers, box of swisha sweets
Still got a bitch that'll get yo bitch to leave
Switch up freaks like I swap my whips
Shit ain't real as shit to me!

(Hook x2)
I'm ballin' ballin' ballin' bitch
Don't know what else to call it, shit!
All these dollas I brought with me
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit

(Verse 2: Juicy J)
I get to the money, partner, you too broke to talk to me
I been countin' all this week, on top of my shit like a toilet seat
I'm rich just like I owe da B, and beein' real don't cost a fee
Tell yo girl come ride with me
Big buffee, all she can eat
Loudpack in a mason jar
Driving slew in a race car
This yella bitch I'm in traffic with
She fine as shit and she day far
Now this hoe can he my wife
And to make sure she roll mommy a-ride
Made my ass so low, it looks like it finna cook beef on rice
I'm ballin', ballin', ballin' bitch
And the car cost like 40 bricks
Pour that case of Sprite and I'mma pour lean in all this shit
These niggas ain't thrill, these niggas police and on the low
Take a nigga bitch, leave out the club
So he can put an APB on that hoe

(Verse 3: Kevin Gates)
Screech fo no reason, Saved By The Bell
This bitch to the right, pretty face, tall, white
With a smile like Lisa, big booty diva
Broke a brick down, meet a banda there
And three hundred fo the oz of rheefa
Twenty five bags of the OG kush
And the grandaddy perco weakon
Zansa tabs in the air, no slab, but thank God fo my people (omg)
On the road doing show after show after show and I still eat good all features
Clunkin', gold, and tweakin' if the streets ain't got no lean
Say they bought like nine fifty fo the seal I say I need it
Took time, this crooks fine
Had bad karma, I shook mine!
Jab good, slip excellent
Uppercuts, my hook's fine
Refrigeration, illustration, ice on, got niggas hatin'
Foreign whip, foreign bitch
What that is? Immigration!
Overcooked dope bags cocaine if it cook too long then they may complain
Dope game both lays won't say no names, dope made propane, won't make no change
From the ghetto us I swerve that's why I'm ballin', I'm ballin', if you've got a prolem with it I ain't sorry, I ain't sorry.

(Hook x2)
I'm ballin' ballin' ballin' bitch
Don't know what else to call it, shit!
All these dollas I brought with me
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit
I fuck around spend all this shit