(feat. Juelz Santana, Hell Rell, JR Writer)



[Verse 1: Juelz Santana]

Been riding clean

Two hundred thousand dollar machines

Capital B with the wings

Flyin' in a flying spur

Grippin' on a iron berg, I in hurr

Shorty in dem designer, jeans

Damn, baby you lookin' kinda scrumptous

What are those Citizens Rocker Republics

Antique jeans, I'm a antique fiend

Let my antique sag off my antique ass

Crack for me, I'm back indeed

Bitch I'm all about my paper like a fax machine

On track like half your weed

Spit crack, two half a keys, that's a key

You can serve that to fiends

That be me, Santana

I'm ballin' like an athlete

You niggaz stinkin' it up like athlete's feet (Ill)

Yep, yep, I'm higher than the clouds

Flyer than the owl, hyper than the crowd

Screaming out liud, tell ya bitch calm down

There's no competitor better than a nigga like me

Etcetera, etcetera

I'm the hottest out, better check my temperature

Thermometer popped, can't check my temperature

Nope



[Hook: J.R. Writer]

You couldn't run wit' us

Listen, you don't stunt enough

I get it down, get it down, but my money up

Throw a couple bucks, show you how a baller do this

Lemme walk you through it, yup, it's more than music



[Verse 2: Hell Rell]

Drip, drip, baby that's the candy paint

Falling off the Ferrari while blowin' danky-dank

Love beef so I got my shooters on deck

On the ice so I threw the whole cooler on my neck

I take 'em to Divas, straight from a no-name hoe

But take 'em to my hood, show 'em my cocaine flow

They say this your other profession

Don't worry 'bout what I'm sellin'

Askin' too many questions, just carry my Smith & Wesson

Married to gettin' fresh, ya see this rock on my hand

What it cost me, ya know, a brick, about 1000 grams

Listen homie I'm the man, there's nothing you can tell me

Some many on ya head, 20 grand on the skully

Where do you shop, never seen those jeans

And I keep it G'd up like I'm Gino Greene

Ruger out in the streets, you see me grind

And the chrome rims shine on that DP-9

It's Mr. Ruger



[Hook]



[Verse 3: Juelz Santana]

Cats talkin' 'bout it's time to give the winner some

Slow down boy, it's time to give the kid a run

Paper chaser, paper spender

And I was built for the ballin' like the Staples Center

Can I get a what what, maybe a ooh ooh

But for my homies out there, maybe a Soo-Woo Soo-Woo

Catch me riding round on the prowl

Lookin' for some girls gone wild

I put your chick int eh Coupe, and she thick and she cute

They love it when I hit the button, dismiss the roof

Damn, we just had a hardtop

Now look, this car got a bald spot

While your jaw drop, her draws drop

Damn, shorty got a bald spot

I'm rock-n-roll like Guns & Roses

The consequences of my guns is roses

I reload just to un-reload it

Life's a bitch and yep, we bonin', we open



[Hook]