| Yo I could get wild like a crocodile | 
| She wearin' my name cuz she love my style | 
| A hundred white girls in a single file | 
| Tryin' ta get touched and they all know how | 
| It’s about to go down | 
| I’m bout to go ham | 
| Turn my stereo up cuz my blast on jam | 
| Girl, you could get stuck like a suction cup | 
| With your bean bag titties and your big ol' butt | 
| I’m talking bout… | 
| Let me catch my breath like, (yeah) | 
| Let my smoke my best like, (yeah) | 
| Now let me count my stack (yeah x2) | 
| If I gave you an inch better bring that shit back, like | 
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop) | 
| Pullin' on rags | 
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop) | 
| I do it so good had to put it on wax | 
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop) | 
| She a movie star and I like it like that | 
| (Shorty work her back like a bull in a China shop) | 
| When the jakes come around, boy you know where it’s at… | 
| I come through like a UFO when it hovers | 
| And bang Wu Tang in the shudders | 
| Put down the nine just to hit him with the putter | 
| The sucka never even told his mother that he loved her | 
| Bread for the butter and pity for the fool | 
| He should have known better than to fuck with Crown Jewels | 
| I’m chillin' with the Killa Whale, look like Shamu | 
| Ya head get wet and we ain’t talkin' shampoo | 
| We do like Van  | 
| My favorite dance move | 
| Is when MJ freeze tip toe down his shoes | 
| But I ain’t come to dance I’m collectin' my scrill | 
| That’s why I fucks with Nicky, trill recognize trill | 
| Shoot for the kill | 
| Ride round hot box, tint, Coupe de Ville | 
| I boot with the heel | 
| So go on catch a foot up your ass | 
| Have your shit lookin' like «damn | 
| I walked in got had 'fore I sat down.» | 
| Hook | 
| Cuz it’s a bolo mission | 
| And I’m somthin' like a chef in a crack kitchen | 
| You keep frontin' might find your whole back missing | 
| I’m Vida Blue when I do my allstar pitchin' | 
| You could scream in my ear and I won’t listen | 
| I don’t like you bitch, you need ta quit trippin' | 
| Do ya time playboy nigga, stop snitchin' | 
| Man it’s a sugar man, someone might say ta god | 
| It’s like Chris Paul throwin' Blake Griff a lob | 
| Or Mac Dre tellin' hoes that it ain’t his job | 
| I let the Benz bust a bitch and I straight mob | 
| The homie said his new gun had a rubber handle | 
| And he’ll love to blow you out like a roman candle | 
| I stand alone in the rain like a lost lover | 
| To reconnect with the homies like the Ward brothers | 
| Man, it’s a gold thang | 
| And I like to pick up a little ho change | 
| And my style stand out like a gold chain | 
| Fillmoe in the buildin', and it’s a go mayne | 
| Khan Mecca and it really ain’t no thang | 
| Hook |