| Niggaz be stressing me, niggaz be testing me Taking my kindness for a weakness, in this industry
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| Niggaz be stressing me, trying to get everything for free
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| Knowing that anything worth having, costs a pretty penny
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| I gotta get raw, this time around dog
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| Cause motherfuckers, thinking they can push me in the ground
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| Just saying do anything to me, expect to know my peeps
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| So this song goes out, to those haters who envy me My point exactly, they ain’t gotta be a platinum song
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| Just as long as you get the message, you hear in this song
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| I got a lovely remedy, for this shit
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| But in the face or the mind, ghetto platinum hits
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| When you doing something right, niggaz got something bad to say
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| See I ain’t trying to please, these phony busters anyway
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| It was some niggaz on there, sure was talking about my hair
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| Now they’re broke, and they’re all what living there
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| How you gon let a nigga like me, slip through your fingers yo It’s kinda like you hit the lotto, then just lost it all
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| See I’m a ghetto platinum nigga, I’m gon shine this year
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| Y’all can’t stop what God has for me, it’s so crystal clear
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| So now sit back, relax and enjoy the ride
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| You had yours on, now it’s Cook and Trae’s time
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| Don’t start none, won’t be none
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| Don’t start none, won’t be noooone
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| Don’t start none, won’t be none
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| Don’t start none, won’t be none
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| Still stuck between real and fake
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| But I’ma eliminate fake, when I beat the hate
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| I’m on my last leg, and on the verge of clicking
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| And these cats ain’t gon learn, till they come up missing
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| Niggaz taking the help, that I give for granted
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| Me and Cook been wrecking shit, for too long
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| You better get your ass up, and get your stacks up Trying to roll chop for me, and get you messed up
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| I’m sick and tired, of these wanna be fake type
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| Industry hype, all about the limelight
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| Living life shife, and ride a nigga dick tight
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| Better go on, cause I’m the real nigga type
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| And I’m squaring it off, till it’s over
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| Stress done got me, running out my mind
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| And I put it on the line, each and every time
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| Since they messed up my vibe, now the haters mine
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| It ain’t no more friends, ain’t no more foes
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| Ain’t no more kin folk, and no more hoes
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| Just me and the Maab, and S.L.A.B.
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| And I’ma rep my click, until the curtain close
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| Lord knows, I’m due for earning my crown
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| I done waited my time, and now it’s going down
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| Trae and Billy Cook, Stress the remix
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| Life in the street niggaz, better move around
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| I ain’t trying to start nothing, ya’ll can feel fa sho
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| I keeps it real can you tell, by the way I spit it yo This is the first and last time, thugging on a negative vibe
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| I shoulda done these writing songs, are going ninety wide
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| You think I’m talking about you, if the shoe fit wear it dog
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| You done pissed me off, this was the last straw
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| You whack producers who think, your tracks are the bomb
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| I thought you knew you need a platinum, wasn’t a real song
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| I can go on and on, while all while sealing the flow
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| See all you niggaz really need me, but you don’t hear me though
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| (Billy Cook)
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| Yeah, hey yeeeeah
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| Trae help me out, Trae help me out
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| The Maab, yeeeeah BMG 1965
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| The click, the squad, help me out
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| Oooo-oooooh, weeeell
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| These niggaz don’t want none |