[Chorus: Luke-O]
These dead presidents old just like my grandpie
But feel like a bitch with a fat ass
All the lights and cameras flashin', I gotta flash it
This money is beautiful, this money is beautiful

[Verse 1: Pyrex Pre$$]
Uh
Swear I seen it all, I mean thousands, you made millions
[?], meanwhile I'm on the south of France browsin'
Fingers turn to colors from the euros that I'm countin' (Rainbow)
You in the hood poutin', I'm sippin' on sour grapes
Lookin' at my champagne glass with a Bill Cowher face (Woo)
Mazel tov, no, really, she said, "Mazel tov" (For real)
My life's monologue, words like Kellogg's (Kellogg's)
'Cause now my son is raised in brands
You wouldn't understand how I camе from a jam
To sippin' on tea, eatin' crumpets ovеr jam
From my auntie's basement, smellin' like a thousand grams (That's a brick)
Trap goin' ham, hot, dreams of a teardrop
Moola Gang, we that gettin' money clan (Clan)
Paint green on life's canvass
My campus the incredible two state for a federal

[Interlude: Pyrex Pre$$]
Skeez [?] it's all real, baby
Get outta this, mane, Moola Gang
[Verse 2: Luke-O]
My shoes cost a pretty penny
Loafin' in them Jordan 11's, I don't do the pennies
It don't matter if they black or white like Michael
Sneakerheads ship them FedEx to they arrival
A brother [?] sign for it, I don't give no one credit
They should apply more
I shoulda only gave my ex sex like a side-whore
Focused on the present, the past took a lot of me
But that's what adds excitement to my biography
This money, sexy life pinky
Make your bitch go downstairs like a slinky
You couldn't see my clique if I linked ya
Links in my chain platinum like a Visa
Vis-à-vis, can't play defense in the V
I'd rather be low-key with the keys to the city
Gettin' moolah with the gang, we a G'd up committee
Two handfuls of money like a C-cup of titties

[Chorus: Luke-O]
These dead presidents old just like my grandpie
But feel like a bitch with a fat ass
All the lights and cameras flashin', I gotta flash it
This money is beautiful, this money is beautiful

[Verse 3: Mac Miller]
Yeah, havin' millions will be picture-perfect
I know these people know the kid deserves it
Got the sickest verses, spinnin' like it's written in cursive
Twistin' herb [?], lost, phone missin' service
With all these clowns here, I feel like it's a circus
Sippin' liquor got me spinnin' 'til I'm layin' on the bed
Eyes in the back of my head, you see me
After this bread, tryna get it like Bill Gates
Flippin' merchandise and sellin' mixtapes
When you wanna escape, boy, this piff great
Full stomach though, an empty dinner plate
Bunch of strippers goin' ham, dancin' in the cage
You got no candles with your cake, you washed up
You a dickface, I bet your job sucks
Who you fuckin' with? Not us
You mad, haha