| Year-round we them niggas | 
| You seasonal, temporary living | 
| Your run’ll be done in a minute | 
| You are not infinite | 
| Bitches can tell the difference, they know better than to smoke with ya | 
| Back up a lil' bit, you’ll get the whole picture | 
| So much sicker than them niggas, I’m coughing they just got hiccups | 
| KC lights, roll bars on my Chevy pickup | 
| Off-road style, lift kit, heavy duty springs | 
| Stomper tires get it done when the time is crunch like sit-ups | 
| To the challenge I rise, Lamborghini doors | 
| '85 Countach never seen a real road | 
| From the showroom floor to my seven car garage | 
| Got a storage 'cross town with like seven more rides | 
| Tucked inside — that Grand Theft Auto life | 
| Rolling up in my safe house I’m looking down | 
| Done it by my design, refusing to comprimise | 
| They saying shit changed 'casue shit changed | 
| Not just the horses in my motor, but the cost for me to show up | 
| I’m a boss, and my whole team fly private | 
| Black cars when we roll up, quarter pounds when we blow up | 
| Hit the ground running | 
| My watch new cause a nigga sound bumping | 
| And ya girlfriend leaving you cause she just wanna be around something | 
| Like playing Xbox and wearing weed socks, speeding 'round stunting | 
| Orderin' thousand dollar room service, rolling weed up by the onion | 
| Ooo I got it made, but I ain’t make it on my own | 
| Who would’ve thought a Pittsburgh nigga would go and buy an LA home | 
| Rolling up papers, turning down favors | 
| All these fake kushes, I got my own flavor | 
| Homie that ain’t KK in that brand new bag | 
| Got it made to make that brand new crib | 
| Need a whip to match that brand new car | 
| Thinking maybe Maybach brand new insides | 
| Everything black, young ass nigga blowing OG in the back | 
| Last time you heard from me, I was rolling bud up | 
| Looking dope in my brand new clothes | 
| Eyes closed like someone told 'em to shut up |