I got fake friends givin' me hugs I got record labels givin' me dubs You can't book me at clubs Police hate me, white fans show me love I just gave away bikes with a judge I grew up in the mud Legal money, I got rich from workin' I give back to my hood on purpose When you make it to the top, you know the rumors gon' surface Know you talk behind my back, cause your ass always be nervous Everything private on the jet, we got curtains 30,000 feet and this bitch bust out twerkin' I ain't from New Orleans, but I know that you heard me I don't play tennis, but the models, they serve me Feel like I'm that nigga, but plenty women done curve me Know my worth, I gave myself to many women, then deserve me Trusted you, gave you my heart, and you did nothing but hurt me But one thing bout them tables, they just don't stop turnin' One thing bout them tables, they just don't stop One thing bout this money, it just won't stop Hard inside the trenches, I can't go pop We make street records and they go pop Still stand on Venice, even though I'm rich Niggas out of pocket, grab the pool stick She don't get a purse, then she gon' throw a fit But she ride me like a rodeo, no bullshit I own a lot of homes, I got good deeds Dottin' all my I's and crossin' all my T's Lookin' at my children, all I see is me You know it's different when you responsible for how somebody breathe Make sure that they eat, cause I'm a hustler I don't believe in ghosts, but he's a bustler Top shot of the streets, know how many niggas we done roughed up Ferrari 1.2, remember Ryan in a pluck-pluck 40 million a year, this shit right here way past locked up Yeah, all this is yours now All this, all this, all this, all this