Yo, yo, yo, word to ride, nigga, yeah      Aiyyo, we four or five niggaz with furs on   Up top gated up, big tables got the reserves on   Blowin' on saxophones, the band is rough   So much ice on, looks like my wrist been cut      And we just made it back from Beijing   Seen my jeweler, told him melt the bird down to eight rings   But then the music stopped, Jada stood up   Before the speech, he had everybody raise they cups      He said, "I been in spots where I can't even mention it"   "Don't drink the Cris', Ghost mighta pissed in it"   Romanian dude, black down, pourin' the saki   Face slumped to the side like Rocky      And Strahan came through with his bullshit ring   He said, "Yikes", when I pulled out my monster bling   Don't be afraid of the New York street talk   I switch gear all day, bro, like you do on your peach porch      The chairs is suede, the walls is velvet   Marquise ballroom, so live I felt it   Fat asses in fishnets, shakin' they pelvis   Playin' with they pussy, middle finger drippin', I smelt it      Poker tables, crap joints just for rap niggaz   Me and Sheek, walkin' around bitch slappin' niggaz   There go Rae, there go P   Yo Chop, whattup?      Sam Cooke writin' hand, all of my lightning, damn   Used to rob niggaz in Sam's, buy shams   For my dude's baby shoe or booster baby, rollin' with steel   Eatin' Jamaican food under the wheel      You know the deal, book somethin' then blow   Went from a O to a low, little apartment in Brookdale   Gold was my motto, lotto numbers is what?   Had it in me, rolled down coolin' with coke      That's the '90s, Chef era take over America   Bag Ugly Betty up, make her Ms. Guerrera   Pinky wench in sweaters, cortex burnin' the mic booth   Travel right past my heritage      Them old school niggaz is me   Taught me how to read, get skee'd, everybody missin' a ki   Yo, I do this with a natural movement   Catch me by the [Incomprehensible], scope on me, fuck it, I'm losin' it      Yeah, yo, I did it my way, lights off on the highway   Greek statues on both sides of the driveway   Word to the stamps on the diesel   The way these niggaz is lookin' either they got cramps or they evil      One go, we all go, D-boy fresh but hard dough   Cashmere and suede cargoes   On top of the beige Wallo's   45 government edition clippers, straight hollows      My clientele is supreme and it's proven   That I'm only built for the Link if it's Cuban   I'm a pioneer, I'm not a vet   'Last Kiss' is a French one, it's not a peck      Movin' powder, piff and a lot of wet   You're gonna die, that's a promise not a threat   Yeah, but I ain't with the chatterin'   'Cause I'd just rather splatter them   This is a cartel gatherin', what?