LYRICS
作曲 : Julio Núñez/Christian Smith/Randolph Newman
Oh yeah yeah yeah
201 young
The story gon’ get told how it’s told, yeah
I came in the game buggin’ with no coach, yeah
You only popping for a post, yeah
We the ones
Not the ones you should approach, yeah
Rolled up like I ordered me Hanami, (that Hanami)
I need 50 bowls of green, that wasabi (for me and my posse)
Thats who got me when the heat get on and poppin’
When the chopping block get choppy
You know when it’s too Habatchi, hoe
My phone dead you can’t reach me
Got on all black you can’t see me
We got no plan to take easy
Till my bank account is baked ziti with the sauce
If you ain’t talking paper keep it movin’ bitch
I say **** the bullshi
Let’s get stupid rich
The bullshit, let's get stupid ric
Who you think you are anyway huh
Who you think you are
I just chase the paper, not the fame that follow
Ain’t a thing that I don’t go insane asylum on
I’m singing up an octave hoe, like
Oh na na na I can’t take all that gossip no more
Oh when I walk in, these bitches they pop on the floo
Ok. This just in
What’s that
That new CNN
Nah, that’s that fake bullshit agai
What’s that
That used-to-be-friends
What’s that exchange rate for them favors
Bet it’s nothing my bitch
I might sneeze on your opinion
That’s just something I’m sick of
Oh she lit through the camera
She that new paparazzi
Make her get off the phone
And then get right on my Johnson
But my phone dead you can’t reach me
Got on all black you can’t see me
We got no plan to take easy
Till my bank account is baked ziti with the sauce
If you ain’t talking paper keep it movin’ bitch
I say **** the bullshi
Lets get stupid rich
The bullshit, let’s get stupid ric