| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| I’m a boss stacking all this money
|
| My safe stay full of new hundreds
|
| My trap house still doing numbers
|
| Show you how to turn nothing into something
|
| I pull up to the scene, they like «Bibby what you on?»
|
| Got the chrome, one up in the dome, play I’ll get you gone
|
| Money on my phone, so I told that bitch hold on
|
| Put the business first, then see what the hoes on
|
| Young nigga stunting, walking round with this gold on
|
| I would flood the block but I ain’t tryna get told on
|
| Niggas dissing, acting like some women
|
| Hey but we ain’t really tripping cause we got some pots to piss in
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| When we pull up as the shit and go get your bitch’s attention
|
| She wishing her and my dick could have a head on collision
|
| My guarder number one, we be bumming in your direction
|
| They get permission from me, they gon turn her with no ignition
|
| King, double Styrofoam for the lean
|
| Puffing 15, 30 grand in my jeans
|
| And when I’m seen on the scene, it’s obscene
|
| And a vert so clean, half a million dollar chain
|
| Ask a ho who run it they go yelling out our name
|
| Hustle gang bang green bitch, all we know is bank rolls
|
| Get dough when the bank close, and there ain’t no
|
| Stopping, our feet kicked up where you can’t go
|
| They can’t paint no picture no clearer
|
| Fuck with us, wreak havoc, bring terror
|
| No there ain’t no nigga like us in your city
|
| Pulling up, sucker like no he motherfucking didn’t
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| Grind so hard I ain’t slept in four days
|
| Niggas hating on the bench, they don’t get no play
|
| Haters gon hate, everything ok
|
| Young nigga from the streets getting money both ways
|
| And we get that straight drop shit, straight from the tropics
|
| Then I rerock it to double up them profits
|
| Catch me on E block, now I’m with the D cop
|
| Word around town Lil Bibby got the streets locked
|
| Niggas mean mugging, so I got the heat cocked
|
| Wheat timbs nigga, we don’t do the Reebok
|
| My young boys on bullshit, boy
|
| Just watch, I’ll show you how to do this shit, boy
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money
|
| Pulled up, parking lot stunt, boy
|
| Thousand dollar jeans full of hundreds, boy
|
| Nigga we ain’t worried bout nothing, boy
|
| Everybody with me getting money |