[Intro: Propain]
(G&B)
(Forever Trill) Yeah, ayy

[Verse 1: Propain & Lil' Keke]
She gon' play with you, but not with Pro'
Player, I got mind control, that boy that cold as five below (Yeah)
Pockets swole, be on the highway with the top exposed
Yellin', "Fuck the fame," I'm on top of green like soccer goals (Gettin' money)
When you ridin' to that top, you see some rocky roads
Yeah, when shit hit the fan, still I killed my compos'
This self made (Uh), born in that mud, but shit, up out I rose
Real n***a that's not a road, still beat a Mike like Papa Joe
Silence, busters pimpin', Key was knockin' doors
I've been chasin' money, slidin' through that bitch likе Mop & Glo (Ayy)
I'm mellow and I'm mafio, she older, but I'm papi though (Fly, fly, Don Kid in thе buildin', let's go)
I started out with nothin' now they say my name on side the Coast, it's crazy

[Verse 2: Lil' Keke]
Coldest n***as, I'm a true fly n***a without a doubt (Doubt)
It's decades of me gettin' paid and showin' out (Out)
The drop still southern and classic, so nasty
610, 288, so never ask me
Cali buds wrapped in a cone, chiefin' strong
N***as summertime killin' the zone and doin' wrong
Fresh pare of Christions, I'm slidin'
Told a bitch if she ain't fuckin', shit, she ain't ridin'
Legend talk high when I'm breakin' her back, that's a fact
Plus a n***a still actin' his act and countin' stack
This Da Don, I'm fly as a pilot, can't hide it
Where I'm from, if the shoe fit, buy it, n***a, try it
[Verse 3: Slim Thug]
STS fresh, dressed to impress
Rem on, Slim grown, you messin' with the best
Steppin' out tonight, I gotta show 'em who the flyest
Gas God's list, so you know who's the highest
Baby girl, come here, you need to be right by us
Ain't nothin' but bosses and real n***as right beside us
Ladies wanna try us, try to take us home and ride us
Wanna treat us like your highness, 'cause our rides is the flyest
N***as stay silent, been solid in the streets
'Bout to pick up a check, before I take her home and beat
Fat sweets stuff, cough hard every puff
Think a n***a got that 'Rona, 'cause I'm coughin' too much, fuck

[Chorus: Z-Ro & Paul Wall]
Look at all these hoes
Tryna get at me
But I don't love these hoes
I'd rather smoke on Cali
I'm way too high
And I'm way too fly (Shit, you know I'm fly, what you talkin' 'bout? Paul Wall, baby), yeah (Hey)

[Verse 4: Paul Wall & Big Pokey]
I'm higher than the price of a pint bottle (Bottle)
Laid back with a model, makin' her head bobble (Bobble)
Flyer than a swallow as she swallowin', gobble, gobble (Gobble)
Countin' up that guapo, 'bout to hop in the El Dorado ('Rado)
Open up your mind like Imhotep or Aristotle ('Stotle)
Me and my amanos gotta apply for the avocado ('Cado)
Yeah, the whole Guacamole ('Mole)
Pull up pokin' big smoky, what's up, Big Pokey? (Pokey)
Focused on me low-key, smokin' satellite in tok— (Tokyo)
Yo, bro, hol' up with the hatin', you don't know me (Ayy, you don't know me)
Back to stackin' more cheese, with Z-Ro and Pro' P's, it's Paul Wall, baby (Ayy, ayy)
I chunk the deuce and holla Kobe, bring the trophy, baby (Ayy, say, yeah)
[Verse 5: Big Pokey & Lil' Flip]
Ayy, I'm way too high, Pro', I'm way too fly
Smoking Cali, rockin' bag on my way to Dubai ('Bai)
Blowin' top shelf exotics, it's the best of the best (Best)
Gettin' chose by these hoes, man, I swear I'm a mess (Field n***a)
I got a crush on the money, it's the paper for me (For me)
I'ma grind and shine hard 'til they hate what they see (They hate me, n***a)
I'm focused on what's mine 'til everything fall in line
If I slip financially, who gon' help a player get up off the grind? (Say)
Smokin' weed all alone, I'm in my comfort zone
No distraction, mentally processin' gettin' my money on (Yessir)
Shit, they say the hustle stiff then the money strong (Money strong)
And them hoes we fly 'em in then we send 'em home (Haha, uh)

[Verse 6: Lil Flip]
I rock a Rolex, but I ain't got time, ho, so I grind more
And since '94, I've been pimpin' hard, they keep the blinds closed
I got two butlers, so I told them, "Keep the wine cold"
Baby, I'm raw, just like my cones, and I got nine row
And if I ain't at the party, it ain't poppin' (No way)
I'm like the Headless Horseman and my 'Rari, the top, I chop it (Uh)
Look, I be chasin' paper, ho (Ayy), I'm courtside on the Lakers floor (Ayy)
I'm courtside on the Rockets floor (Ayy), Flip got a psychotic flow (Ow)
It ain't no pressure, you can keep on fuckin' with them lames
'Cause they ain't sayin' a damn thing like Pootie Tang
Don't let them Instagram likes get you all hyped
Come fuck with a mob boss and I can change your life (Yeah)
[Chorus: Z-Ro & Lil' Flip]
Look at all these hoes (That right, that right)
Tryna get at me (Woo, haha, who, me?)
But I don't love these hoes (Noo, you dig?)
I'd rather smoke on Cali
I'm way too high
And I'm way too fly, yeah

[Interlude: Z-Ro]
You know I got my dog hat on
Double breasted, gold head on my 'caine
Gold head on my 'caine, listen
They like why my man got all that on?
N***as hatin', but these hoes is on my thang
Hoes is on my thang

[Verse 7: Z-Ro]
See I just want the money, my n***a
Type of hustler sell education to a dummy, my n***a
No wholesale, it's the full price if it come from me, my n***a
Top of the mornin', at midnight it's still sunny, my n***a, yeah
Solo dolo, baby, I don't need a team (I don't need a team)
I'm in a different tax braket, I swear I don't need a thing (I don't need a thing)
Only see me when it's time to eat, and then I flee the scene (Then I flee the scene)
And I'm not eatin' nothin' at all, if I'm not eatin' clean, Vandross (Uh)

[Chorus: Z-Ro]
Look at all these hoes
Tryna get at me
But I don't love these hoes
I'd rather smoke on Cali
I'm way too high
And I'm way too fly, yeah