text: What it do, nigga
  This your nigga T-Streets
  Bang-bang in the building
  This Young Money
  First up, my nigga Gudda Gudda
  Double G, blap, blap
  They call me Young Gudda, Im all about the dough still
  And anybody in my way: roadkill
  Everything my hands touch turn to gold
  Money, knots, and jewels with no records sold, yeah
  Im manhandlin rappers with no effort
  So imagine whatll happen when I start applyin pressure
  Guillotine flow, who ready to get severed, nigga?
  In or out the booth, you could get leveled, nigga
  Now we gonna take it to Harlem, Millzy
  L’eggo! Yo, we are Young Money 
  Nigga, your camp chocha
  Its ‘bout to get real ugly—Omarosa
  YM vultures, it aint a family doper
  Wе done changed the way thе game look—Sammy Sosa 
  This is life, this aint a job
  The Audemars and Chapard just symbolize I go hard
  Navy on Navy Camaro, I did it all for the Yankees 
  Did it all for New York and this love, no need to thank me
  Millz!
  Now we gonna take to the West Coast
  Tyga-Tyga
  Ugh, fast money, I dont slow dance
  Young Money, motherfucker, til the world end
  Money overweight, bitch—Roseanne
  I dont listen to these kids—grown man
  Skinny nigga, dope though, ugh, Lohan
  Lindsey, the white Benz, same color Mike skin
  Make your soul spin when the ping loading
  Au revoir, goodbye, now applaud
  Yeah, now it’s child’s play, nigga
  My lil G, Lil Chuckee
  Young Money lil G, battle juice in my blood
  Jumpin at the boy, man, you better have your bungee cord
  Since Wayne took me off the leash, I aint lose a fight yet
  Now, come drag your dog out the ring, how you love that?
  Young with an attitude, watch how you talk to me
  Keep playin Freddy, boy, Ill leak on your Elm Street
  Trouble is what you want, dog, pain is what you dont get
  Its Young Money to the bone gristle, you dig?
  Now we got the hottest nigga on the internet
  Lil Twist Hefner, what it do?
  Ugh! Young Money, good night
  And yeah, Im gon shine like a ultraviolet light
  Lil Twist gonna sell out like its opening tonight
  Going for the fist nigga to write
  You need a telescope sight to try to see me, Im so far gone
  Even though Im going off, kids, Im so far on
  I got a house full of chicks like the Playboy home
  Wrappin up my lifestyle and I smashed this song, Twizzy
  Yeah, next up, we got the best rapstress alive, Nicki Minaj
  Im in that cotton-pickin Bent, put massa on the guts
  White on white whips, Kunta Kinte on the clutch
  You at the bottom of the pole—totem
  Like Lamar Odom, I ball—scrotum
  Flyer than a cricket so they call me Nicki Jiminy
  And its going down like Santa in the chim-i-ney
  You dont ball, break your baby-back ribs
  You need more assist than the handicapped kids
  Oh, shit
  And now, the beautiful Miss Shanell
  Young Money, we’re rockstars
  So fuck with your Magnum on
  And hold on, we go long
  You feel that, we get that
  We in that, we run that
  We bust back
  We hit them and we see them comin back for more
  Back for more
  Next up, my nigga Mack Maine
  Stupid Mack-nupid, one hundred
  Microwave family in the building, you cant hold us
  Me, Tez, and Wayne, we the three new moguls
  Buffet around here, yall boys scrape the plates
  And we dont eat up in our whips, but they got paper plates
  Soon as we leave the club, damn, where the models go
  One word I forgot to say on his album: Hollygrove!
  This track is the finale, nah, this the genesis
  Young Money murderers, we killin shit, forever
  Toronto
  Drizzy
  Get ‘em
  Alright, I got this, you can never get this
  I built it up from nothing, you would think Im playin Tetris
  Thousand-dollar sweater on, but I don’t never sweat shit
  Swear the beats they give me got a motherfuckin’ death wish
  Yeah, tell me, who controls kings?
  I dont follow rules, stupid old things
  Im flyin through the city in a coupe with those wings
  And my team deserves some motherfuckin Super Bowl rings
  Young Money
  Wee-zy! Wee-zy! Wee-zy! Wee-zy!
  Im so in this bitch, CEO in this bitch
  Lil Weezy stand tall, tippy-toe in this bitch
  Blood Gang, motherfucker, da-da-doe in this bitch
  Make your girl get Barry Mani-low in this bitch
  In the body of the world, money is the blood
  And every day, I be back and forward to the blood bank
  Ugh, makin deposits til I fucking faint
  New Orleans, nigga: How bout them fucking Saints?
  Its tight on our end, call that Bubba Franks
  Matter-fact, its too tight—add a couple links
  Im the bar’s tender, you a woman drink
  Yeah, its Young Money, but the money aint
  Gudda tough, Nelly nice, Nick nasty
  Streets bad, Tyga ill, Drake magic
  Millz Harlem, Chuck wild, Twist Dallas
  And Mack Maine rap, sing and manage, ugh!
  Its Young Mula, baby!