Uh Call me Dracula, cuz all i do is count chips Ya money mini i aint talkin' bout the mouse trick These girls runnin' like i jus threw the bouquet They know i'm headed to the top like a toupee Now all the bums is wonderin' where i beez at If you aint a barbie, it's none of your freakin beezwax These lil rappers, i can see 'em in my bash cam I know they grouchy like Oscar up out the trash can I'm on stage You can sit in the crowd I be up in leir jets Take a left at the cloud (hehe) I think she needs the heimlich She da chokin kind She gets no burns No smoking sign (yea) Metaphor, heaven So they approve Nicki like my credit scores' seven Mac n' cheese stix, fried chicken, da guts? And i'm k**en these bxtches Mike Vickin it up CHEA