What's up niggas and bitches. We ain't no mother***in' rookies that makin' collars. I mean it's not big.Fed it nigga. That's why I'ma call this one Fed Ex.Talkin' bout that moolah, that money. Talkin' bout that greed.All mighty mother***in' dollars.Hunnids.Thousands.Millions.Talkin' bout that moolah, that money.Talkin' bout that greed.Talkin' bout that greed.Talkin' bout that moolah, that money.All mighty mother***in' dollars.Hunnids.Thousands.Millions.Millions.Talkin' bout that moolah, that money.Got this game flipped. Got them hoes want ***.Got niggas in the hood waitin' on me for crack.Fifteen, five for a key, now I'm rollin'.Gold thangs hit the block nigga, but it ain't stolen.I paid 55 G for the sound and the edit power.Nigga I ain't Scarface, but got the money in the power.Comin' down all women in the south.Got killers watchin' my back with that gold in they mouth.Bitches get broke off of mother***in' pH.And she say play or hate, niggas takin' vacation.One way ticket is to hell, niggas feel me.It's all about the 20's and the 50's, niggas feel me.Tryin' to get my pay, but it's all about my Skrilla.Big Moe got that max level nine for y'all killers.Rollin' through the south, tryin' to check them hunnids.Got the B's, tryin' to flip them dope fiends.I ain't even stoppin' if the coppers on my tail.Big Boz got that AK nigga, and that's real.Rollin' in that Rover, smokin' on that Dozier.A Dozier, let me soldier.Y'all haters, y'all can't hold her.Niggas got green, ***s casin' checks.Hooked up with three niggas, they call them prime suspects.Nine niggas got this *** gangstafied like Cain and Abel.Niggas got more clientele than niggas got cable.But niggas true to the gizang.Niggas slang them Dizang.But my best partners, Andrew Jackson and Ben Franklin.Understand the greens, cornbread, and cabbage.Gotta get the greens, cornbread, and cabbage.Gotta get the greens, cornbread, and cabbage.Gotta get the greens, cornbread, and cabbage.Follow me, got my three FI's.Cooked up that quarter key.Cooked it up, shook it up.Now I'ma head to your streets.Watch me, bring it all the way down to the cell.Hide these collectors, got me spare.Serving fare, 50 bruh.With a loan, Sleepy Jones at your rules.Sold up.Why's that?Because no other G's.Sold up, sold up.Used to my advantage, a drug scheme.Caused damage, got riches.Now these winters fill up.I mean what I mean.You ain't heard about being got some dirty clout.Slinging in the dirty sides.What I'm really hurt about.In my dirty mind.Chopping game with P.If you bout making some cornbread.Come rock your V with me.Karate mustard green.For dudes that like to inhale.With these smears.Got crops.I'm with the hell.Half on trail.Gon' flare.Hanging by the bell.Young hustlers the scenery.Maybe it's the felony.Cause I'm about to college nigga.Nigga give me cash and checks.I'm all about the FedEx.I want it like ***.But a nigga don't flex.Let me check my cabbage.I got the heavy cornbread.A nigga born dead.Add some gravy to my stash.Now these coppers on my ass.And these hoes wanna holla.Thinking I'm bout that dollar tricking.You must be on that chicken.Plucking, plucking.I'm a mother***ing soldier.Times is hard.And *** is real.Make this meal.Even if I gotta buy them still.Cause you forgive me.The youngest of us.Lust to pay for chasing with them capers.Pulling hits from the skyscrapers.For the paper.It's never personal.It's B.I.Z. status.It's V.I.P.Wish y'all could be like me.And my dogs in the tank.Cranking up dank.It ain't a thing to leave a nigga stank.For trying to mingle with my bank.It hit you.Me P and Fiend.Watching niggas crumble.Give me the green.The cornbread.The cabbage.And the gumbo.You bet you will.I know you feel me.Cause I'm a G.G.Don't give a *** about your nigga or your G.G.Cause I'm about getting paid.Money's getting made.Too many niggas getting paid.But I'm an only soldier.I thought I told ya.So nigga get up on this brochure.N.O.L.I.M.I.T.N.O.L.I.M.I.T.N.O.L.I.M.I.T.N.O.L.I.M.I.T.N.O.L.I.M.I.T.