text: Yeah
  Cut it up, gimme a light
  Yeah, and by the way, nigga
  Its Young Mula
  First Lady
  Ugh, yo, yo
  Let us begin with a bad lil specimen
  Balenciagas, only things I be steppin in
  Pucci bathing suits, only thing Im dressing in
  Cause I get wetter than a navy seal veteran
  Got—Got em writin love letters in they jour-n-al
  Keep em on they toes like a midget at the urinal
  Bad—Bad—Bad-Bad—Bad—Bad as I wanna be
  She aint bad, she a sad little wannabe
  Yeah. Fuck the bullshit. Its big money popping. Young Mula! Yeah, just like that. What up, young nigga? Lets go. Gudda, brrrat!
  Okay, we running this shit, whеn we walk in the building
  Got bitches from wall to wall, hoеs hangin from the ceiling
  Young Money we bout to kill em, I promise I make a million
  And if they didnt have no hands Ill bet them bitches gon feel em
  Im talkin money and power; you getting money? I doubt it
  Fresher than baby powder, with your bitch in the shower
  That pussy, Ima devour; I beat it up til its sour
  No need for you to even trip; bitch Ill be done in a hour, lets go
  Yeah
  Yeah, thats more like it
  Junior!
  They say the blacker the berry, the redder the cherry
  I say the sweeter it is—you dig? Buried
  Then the bullshit varies, and it got me wary
  But I know two are the same—call it murdered and married 
  Hustling is so necessary, with no adversaries
  But aint no love, like a calendar with no Februarys
  Ima need four secretary, and four Bloody Marys
  Ima go eat me some pussy, and choke off the cherry—Im gone
  Yeah, fully loaded with it
  To the ceiling with it
  More money than you ever seen, nigga!
  Aight, Drizzy, Drake—
  Look, kill the game, no one recovers the murder weapon
  Young Angel, if you hate me tell me burn in heaven 
  Howd ya sleep on me? The highest earnin freshmen
  Like your third infection, I hope you learned your lesson 
  Yeah, I spit raw, but I prefer protection
  I own a heart and a mind and a shirt she slept in
  Bitch, I got the answer, and still aint heard the question
  I shut your club down, please reserve my section
  Fuck a confrontation, there aint no cake in it
  And Im caking, bitch, so tell me why Id take a break from it
  The mother of your child always tell you Im her favorite
  She call me her baby—not the one she was in labor with
  She say, Ooh, you taste good, I say, Ooh, just savor it
  She know that she love a nigga, I be on that major shit
  Cause I get paid to stand, and I get paid to sit
  So I dont walk around with money, baby girl—Im made of it