Chorus [fiend]: x 2   Whoa there, big timer, big timer   I got money to the ceiling   Whoa there, big timer   Won't 'cha, make your money and do what ya wanna      [mia x]   Let the champagne glasses, cashes, comin out the ass   Drinks for everybody, biggest mama stickin up the tab (mama mia)   Don't even ask if I could handle it   Bitch you didn't know I'm stackin ends like the clampets (there it is)   Down south hustlin, workin my musc-lin   Mint greens labeled in God we trust'n   Bustin at the haters in the way of progress   Cause I ain't tryin to live from month to month (naw) that's stress   I only want the best that there is off the top   But I ain't bout to brag about the shit I don't got   So when you see the e4-20 know that it's mine, paid out in full   So I put it in my rhyme   Thirty two hundred square foot, no doubt   Manicured landscape, and this my house   Paid out too, so I know I got the room   To state the fact that them hoes don't like that   But fuck that big timers put your knot in the air   And cock your nine for them jackers out there   Live your life, boy      Chorus x 2      [fiend]   I be crackin like chiropractors   Fiend the young bachelor   That's too many muthafuckin million dollars, what I'm after   Meal ticket stash-a from brick flippin plaster   Now forever paid with mama mia and the master   I cause disasters from the s's to the g   No clubs won't start without the presense of me   Ya better ask somebody, my cake give knee chills   Givin migraine headaches from breakin these bills   See these chills but can't get to it, we way out   Every (? ) that I drive on chrome, is paid out   Close to the house on the hill, but no wife   Take the diamonds out my rol, your house have no light   The more ice, I'm wicked you're sick, and just piss ya   Might take a long line, the dance floor on whispers      Chorus x 2