Yeah,
Ok, I walk up in the club Louie-Louies with the cherry bottoms
Bad bitch on my arm with a Halle Berry body
You know what I do, I, g-get straight to the moolah
Wrist wear frigid and my watch is a Franck Muller
I'm reppin' young moolah, Gudda [x2], I
Remember when I used to stuff my paper in my shoe box
Now I got two large accounts with money stacks and large amounts
What the fuck you niggas talkin' bout, cause we ain't tryin' talk it out
Pistol hangin' out my jeans, it ain't a thing, let's talk it out
Let that chopper start to sing and let it ring and then I'm out
Yeah, you know what I'm sippin', purple got me trippin'
Scoop your chicken up and let her lick me like a lizard
I'm on South Beach chillin' and I'm tryin' to fuck every hottie
Get her to the crib and make her fuck everybody
You know the team, it's Young Money over everybody
In the rap game, so it's fuck everybody

Married to the mob, bury you alive
My girl pussy feel like heaven to a God
And I came in this bitch with my niggas
Kidnap the baby and the fuckin' babysitter, yeah
I be doin' me, don't give a fuck bout what you doin'
Blood gang bitch, big B's, Boston Bruins
I could do this shit, eyes closed, nothin' to it
Bullets fuck your body up, they ain't even tryna view it
I go tough, I go stupid
Murk your pussy ass and everyone you in cahoots with
Fuck you with a pool stick
Make you swallow two dicks
Fuckin' right, we ruthless
We done watched too many movies
Then smoked too many doobies
Murk you out, then deuces
We don't know what truce is
That bullet proof vest so useless
Flag red like bruises
Shoot ya head with them uzis
I swear, your honor, I ain't a dealer, I'm a user, ya dig
I load up the sig, point it at ya wig
Pull over on the highway, throw you off the bridge
We don't give a fuck, and we ain't never did
Shit, three words you never hear, let him live
I'm in my own zone, it got me throwed off
I break these bitches down, I break these hoes off
Lil Tunechi is my name, I got Gudda on the tape
Public apology, sorry for the wait