| If you want it, you got it, you know how I’m rockin' | 
| They never could stop it, it’s stuffed in my pocket | 
| I got up for the score and they never could block it | 
| After the show, I count up in a Masi' | 
| Tears fall from the lies, despite | 
| Hunnid bands through the time of the night | 
| When you left, I ain’t wanna live life | 
| Now I’m happy on the in and outside | 
| Can you make it better? | 
| Trap out like Griselda | 
| Post up with Barettas, hustlin' through the night, yeah | 
| Spin the block, finna stretch 'em | 
| Wake the hood up when we wet 'em | 
| And it’s all gon' be alright, yeah | 
| When that wrong choice take your life, yeah | 
| Gucci pressure be on top of that Nike print | 
| From them rich niggas kickin' yo' back door | 
| And they should give a Rollie to niggas who want it | 
| Who don’t know a thing but trap, though | 
| Blue faces, I put that over nat hoes | 
| The shit that we sellin' will make you relapse, though | 
| Thinkin' I’m slippin', run up and get clapped, ho | 
| I put that North on the map, ho (Gang) | 
| Turn up on a bitch when I’m gone off a Perc | 
| That ho gon' fuck on a fast beat | 
| Ben behind me, do the dash, keepin' up in a Vert | 
| You get jacked out yo' shit, you can’t text me | 
| Pussy nigga throwin' shots, ain’t at me | 
| Strapped up, tell that nigga get at me | 
| Tough love for a bitch, won’t trap me | 
| Pay for the body then I give them the MAC free | 
| Got a pound in the car, I’ma smoke on that | 
| Left the state for a show and I’m comin' back | 
| If he say he want smoke, ain’t no fallin' back | 
| Want a bitch for the play, I’ma blow the strap | 
| He ain’t usin' his head, put it in his lap | 
| He ain’t 'bout it, could tell that he only rap | 
| I just put 40 bands inside the trap | 
| Every manifestation, I’m callin' rare (Gang) | 
| Now can you make it better? | 
| Trap out like Griselda | 
| Post up with Barettas, hustlin' through the night, yeah | 
| Tell Jugg bust a right, yeah | 
| Hop out, gun flames through the night, yeah | 
| You know how I’m rockin', you know that I’m with it | 
| You loyal to me, I’ll make sure that you get it | 
| If you want it, you got it, you know how I’m rockin' | 
| They never could stop it, it’s stuffed in my pocket | 
| I go up for the score and they never could block it | 
| After the show, I count up in a Masi' | 
| Tears fall from the lies, despite | 
| Hunnid bands through the time of the night | 
| When you left, I ain’t wanna live life | 
| Now I’m happy on the in and outside | 
| Pick it up, throw it out, watch it come back | 
| Got a whole hunnid racks in a Dior bag | 
| Count up that money, I run up the sack | 
| Boardin' on the jet with a illegal strap | 
| The shit that they talk, I could tell you is cap | 
| Up off the X and I only took half | 
| Stay energized, I fall back from the tabs | 
| Put a half in my way, I’ma pay off the staff | 
| I feel like it ain’t no bitch I can’t have | 
| Saint Laurent boot with the fur like a bear | 
| Balenciaga, that Gucci, and Prada | 
| I got on all three and I bought several pair | 
| When it’s up, what we slidin' in, duckin' from 12 | 
| Time wise, clockwise, I never fail (No) | 
| Ain’t no slackin', we hustlin', we on this for real | 
| If we don’t get it, we take it, you know what it is | 
| Can you make it better? | 
| Trap out like Griselda | 
| Post up with Barettas, hustlin' through the night, yeah | 
| Can you make it better? | 
| Trap out like Griselda | 
| Post up with Barettas, hustlin' through the night, yeah | 
| Now, can you make it better? | 
| Trap out like Griselda | 
| Post up with Barettas, hustlin' through the night, yeah | 
| Spin the block, finna stretch 'em | 
| Wake the hood up when we wet 'em | 
| And it’s all gon' be alright, yeah | 
| When that wrong choice take your life, yeah | 
| Gucci pressure be on top of that Nike print (Shh) | 
| From them rich niggas kickin' yo' back door | 
| And they should give a Rollie to niggas who want it | 
| Who don’t know a thing but trap, though | 
| Blue faces, I put that over nat hoes | 
| The shit that we sellin' will make you relapse, though | 
| Thinkin' I’m slippin', run up and get clapped, ho | 
| I put that North on the map, ho (Gang) |