[Chorus: Kasher Quon]
Made ten up off an app, you made ten off a pack
Auntie just called and said she bringin' it back (She don't want it)
That is not real cookie, stop swearin' it's crack (At all)
If you fuckin' with my music, stop sayin' it's wack
Made ten up off an app, you made ten off a pack
Auntie just called and said she bringin' it back
That is not real cookie, stop swearin' it's crack
If you fuckin' with my music, stop sayin' it's wack

[Verse: Kasher Quon]
MGP on the bottle, stop sayin' it's Act'
You flash four on the 'Gram, stop sayin' it's racks
I'd be up a hundred if I knew how to stack
It wouldn't be no Kasher Quon if I didn't know how to rap
No matter the situation, I'ma carry the strap
It's just me and my bitch like I married the strap
You ain't ever took a risk, you wouldn't carry the strap
Hams all on the floor interested in that
Then again, kind of nervous, fell victim of that
On my wife and the kids, I wouldn't get you like that
I blow a band, stack a band, I'ma get it right back
IPhones goin' crazy, it ain't orderin' Macs
Ham said, "If I spent five, can you throw in a hat?"
Yes, sir, no prob', you want a don or a snap?
I charged you the wrong amount, it was an error with that
Just resend another five, I'ma be givin' it back
Just for the inconvenience, I'ma give you a rack
Hang up the phone call 'cause I'm finished with that (I'm done)
Ayy, damn, that's the endin' in that, n***a
Ayy, Joey, where you at?
[Chorus: Joey Vuitton 30k]
I'm on the way to Kentucky (I'm on my way)
Glizzy on my hip for a n***a think he lucky (Dumb ass)
Stabbin' on a n***a, main bitch think I'm Chucky
Focus, young bull, put your mind to that money
I'm on the way to Kentucky (I'm on my way)
Glizzy on my hip for a n***a feelin' lucky (Dumb ass)
Stabbin' on a n***a, main bitch think I'm Chucky
Focus, young bull, put your mind to that money

[Verse 2: Joey Vuitton 30k]
Hollow tips, he feel it in his chest just like soul food
Pull up to the crib and beat his ass, doin' more school
Y'all n***as really hoes, only tough over pro tools
I'm dancin' with the Glock, I feel like Usher
.223s in this chop, I let it rock and they gon' bust ya
Knife on this chop, don't get close, it might cut you
Pedophile with this pistol, it's gon' touch you
A hundred hundreds, bitch, it's bustin' out the rubber band
Keep that Glocky in my hand, I'm from a troubled land
Shootin' at his feet, make that n***a do the runnin' man
Yeah, I hit, but she belong to another man
Free Mari, free Milo, free my brothers, man
I'm the shit, I ain't nothin' like that other man
Polo, stop the beat, a ham just hit me up on TextFree
Bro got that chop, that bitch kick just like Jet Li
Motherfuck a Ford, bitch, I need a Jag'
It's a knife, hell nah, bro, I need a mag
Call my killer, fuck the cheese, he don't need the cash
Bro gon' look you in your eyes, he don't need a mask
And she gon' suck me 'til I bust, you gon' eat an ass
Keep a Glock 'cause I come from an evil past
My bitch pussy tight like tuxedo pants
And y'all n***as act like bitches with y'all diva ass (Lame)
Y'all n***as just my junior just like Willie Moore
She ain't from Dimmsdale, she give me Dimmadome (Okay)
Chopper turn his nappy fro into a chilli bowl
And one bullet ain't enough, he need many more, bitch