This your boy Wiz Khalifa man

And I'm a talk my shit, yeah, bitch

I hope ya'll niggas is used to hearing my voice by now,

And if not, get used to it



I woke up from a California dream again,

Next to someone's daughter who I'll probably never meet again

You call her a groupie hoe?

Ask me I say she a fan

Spending all her hours thinking bout what she gonna do and when

I be on that 747 flying frequent shit

You get all the press and try to check for when I'm due to land

And get home in the daytime, way about the PM

Tryin' to finish living out this dream so I be sleeping in

And they ask me if I'm lonely

I ain't long as my money good cause she my one and only

Critics got they face up in my business gettin nosy

But I'm just out here putting on for anyone who knows me

No, I ain't in my position getting comfy

Drinking bigger and ifa chief and bring alisa oz

I stay with me some backup, in case you run up on me

He gonna play the pastor, make a nigga holy



They call me the 501 Don

Mr. know he got a pear of 501's on

My marijuana strong and these hoes ain't shit but probably calls

Dog I met her at the club, we was fucked up wildin

Made it to my crib we was both drunk, driving

Now you on some lame shit, claiming you're my main bitch

Do us both a fav, don't text, don't call me, darling

I was made to ball it's like Spaulding rolling

They say I'm the bomb and they call Wiz, atomic

Hotter than New Orleans, or a geoge foreman grill,

And Chevy eyes caught like Jalil

I'll is what I go so I need sudafed,

Big dog nigga all ya'll poodle fed

Money in the wall all through the vent

Still got time to blow