(Intro – Fabolous) Yo, I be telling em, once they get used to this They gon have a hard time tryna find it somewhere else It ain’t this real over there (Verse 1 – Fabolous) You think living my dream came over night, baby Like I ain’t had chicken wings over rice, baby I just need me somebody to blow the dice, baby But do you take a bad bi**h over a nice lady? Can’t say they ain’t worth it, just overpriced maybe Can’t really tell if she ride, I drove it twice maybe That a** do turn heads like poltergeist, baby Know she put it in her mouth, that overbite crazy I’m tryna chill but really I’m cold as ice, baby You used to hear me in the streets like motorbikes, baby I been staying to myself, the social life’s shady Your own blood’ll watch you bleed, you know that like brazy I outgrow people like baby clothes I hate yes men and maybe hoes Real s**t expose a friend that maybe foe You day ones was plotting on you on the day before Yeah, baby row for baby Joe Johan getting big, gave his Rollie to baby bro Yeah, we even hand-me-down different You raising kings, you gotta hand em crowns different Uh, Cartier Christma**es It’s more toys in the driveway than the Christmas list Everybody Gucci, we can smile today This is what we hustle for, Trappy Holidays (Chorus – Trey Songz) Mexicano, working ni**a, trapaholic Genius ni**a, something like I’m Aristotle Hit the gas, baby, I’m talking full throttle Beat the odds, the numbers wait, hold up Took a ni**a bi**h, I’m so used to this Got another whip, I’m so used to this Ni**as telling lies, I’m so used to this Feeling too fly for the goofy s**t I be going dumb on the doofuses Flicking my thumbs on the blue faces She calling me daddy, who’s the kid? Baby, that’s too bad, don’t know who’s it is (Verse 2 – Trey Songz) Money on the nightstand, 100s all folded Still ain’t been to sleep, ni**as downstairs loaded Lashes on the counter, makeup on the wash cloth R&B thug, give a f**k about a pop star Show a ni**a love, I’m just tryna get my rocks off Coming for the bread, toes pop up like a Pop Tart Bully got the 9 iron, I ain’t talking Top Gun Say you got the keys, well my ni**as popping locks off Shout out to my Gs cause they know that Trigga got charge All my p**y extra on the chicken like it’s hot sauce See a ni**a dripping and what is it if it’s not sauce? Tell the pigs we ain’t tryna listen, we will not talk Getting bankrolls, pulling hoes and it’s my dogs I am not the one to trade, you should try dog One or two Ks, hit the dot, no topped off One or two plays, hit the lot, now the top off Skrrt, skrrt, skrrt like the young ni**a say Uzi in the Vert charge that my young ni**a take Take that charge for me, boy, take that charge for me Talking to my chrome, I she say she talk to God for me All the dirt I’m doing, I just pray that God love me All the work I’m doing, yeah sometimes it’s hard for me Twerk it all, booty solid, keep it hard for me You know how we ball, Fab threw the lob for me Got my own trap, don’t need you to ride for me All these ni**as is my sons, I’ma let em shine for me Drinking vino out the bottle while my baby whine for me Vino out the bottle while my baby whine for me, yeah (Repeat Chorus)