text: Im talking bout putting on, riding out, Glocks in my mas house
  Front you with that work 
  You say you want that head-up, but we dont fight fair, bruh
  Catch you slipping from the backside, then knock you out
  Ace gon stomp you out, then Buddah gon stomp you out
  Nine milli pokin out, four-fizzy pokingout
  Death Row days, show you what this West Coast about
  Id die for my motherfucking nigga
  Jump in front a bullet for my motherfucking nigga
  On the stand, Id lie for my motherfucking nigga
  Rob a bank, Id drive for my motherfucking nigga, real talk
  I dont really fuck with too many niggas
  Cause niggas drop a dime on you like a couple nickels
  I be laughing to the bank like the fucking money tickle
  Driving somethin that you aint, top off—suck a nipple
  And I never put a ho before my bro, dont beef over no ho
  And my niggas sell them keys if you cant open your door
  Hope you ride for my motherfucking niggas
  When it rains, it pours; its dry for me and my fucking niggas, yeah
  I kill for my motherfucking niggas, vice-versa
  Eyes red from the kush I blew—white person
  Got my middle finger on the trigger, and with my little finger to you niggas
  I swear its fuck all yall niggas, except my niggas, oww!
  I said, Ima ride for my motherfucking nigga 
  Most likely, Ima die with my finger on the trigger
  Ive been grinding outside all day with my niggas
  And I aint going in less Im with my nigga
  My nigga, my nigga
  My nigga, my nigga 
  My nigga, my nigga 
  My nigga, my nigga, yeah
  Ohh! I done spent a million dollars on my motherfucking niggas 
  You catch me out Chicago with them motherfucking hittas 
  Call up RondoNumbaNine, Lil Durk to bring the trigger 
  And when we on the lean, we aint fucking with the liquor 
  Ima buy a hundred bottles just to give it to the bitches 
  She keep liking all my pictures
  Cause she see the way I ball, how my wrist and neck be lit up
  Catch you at the red light, have em screaming, “Caine, get up! 
  Same nigga from the bottom, aint a damn thing change
  C—C—Catch me out in Collins, screaming, Money aint a thang
  In a red Mulsanne, looking like I claim Blood
  And if homie aint my homie, then I know it aint love
  Screaming out, 4 Hunnid!” YG, thats my nigga 
  Cause I been in the field, life on the line, with him
  And if its really real, Ill prolly die with him
  Cause when I need the choppers, I just tell Tak, Hit em, what!
  I said, Ima ride for my motherfucking nigga
  Most likely, Ima die with my finger on the trigger
  Ive been grinding outside all day with my niggas
  And I aint going in less Im with my nigga
  My nigga, my nigga
  My nigga, my nigga 
  My nigga, my nigga 
  My nigga, my nigga, yeah 
  I just got 250 thousand dollars for a verse, nigga
  I—I—I dont know, is it me or its your thirst, nigga?
  You nig— You niggas aint got no joints
  Like they injured Chris Paul, you aint got no point
  I just come through with a couple bossy bitches
  They get money too, they some dont cross me bitches
  Flossy bitches, Sergio Rossi, bitches
  And if we at the game, then its floor seat, bitches!
  I—I—I—I—I—I ride for my bitches
  Im so fuckin rich I cop rides for my bitches
  Dollar menu, fries, apple pies: other bitches
  I drop a freestyle and get a rise outta bitches
  Bitches, my bitches
  I need a nigga with some different strokes, Todd Bridges
  Shout out to my main bitches and my side bitches
  Need a nigga with some good neck, ostriches
  My niggas
  I said that Ima ride for my motherfucking nigga
  Most likely, Ima die with my finger on the trigger
  Ive been grindin outside all day with my niggas
  New York to Compton
  And I aint going in less Im with my nigga
  Got YG with me, so dont get stomped in, uh-huh
  My nigga, my nigga
  Yall know who the fuck it is
  My nigga, my nigga 
  See, I done preheated my oven to 350 degrees, bitch!
  My nigga, my nigga 
  My nigga, my nigga, yeah
  And when it come out, its gon burn you bitches like
  You better get your motherfuckin oven mitt, bitch!
  Ha-haa!
  Young Mula, baby!