[Chorus: Kid Ink]
I'm feeling like a man of the hour, tear down the house,
I'm throwin' this money like it's no runnin' out.
Okay, but I wanna know, can you get any higher,
And drop it down the pole, like it's a fire?
Now let me see just what you doin' with your bad ass,
I can't help, but watch you move it with your bad ass.
Let me see just what you doin' with your bad ass,
I can't help, but watch you move it with your bad ass.
[Verse 1: Kid Ink]
I'm feelinh like the man of the hour, host of the evening,
But, girl, this your show, now bring it back, rerun.
I got pockets of hundreds, they say, that change is irrelevant;
Lookin up in the sky I say, “I love watching you elevate.”
Get high as you ever been, we getting hella' bent,
Ball so hard, I deserve me a letterman,
I mean, let me see that cake, cake, cake, like Entenmann's.
Ass up, gon' take it down like a sedative,
That's a negative, ain't nobody wetter than,
Better get familiar like a motherfuckin' relative.
Know: you see the fireworks, you looking where my section is,
All this money fallin' in the air like it's confetti, bitch!
[Chorus]
[Verse 2: Wale]
I'm the man of the hour,
Money and power,
And the humble ain't feed me so I got that Geechee shit out me.
And the city is ours,
Where the killers devour,
Where the niggas lift Smith N's, and the victims lift a few,
OK? What I see, dog, you and me no cool,
Bet, they be loud when I leave out room.
Knowin' how you move, hope you got good shoes.
When the heat on niggas be like pyoom!
Young nigga with some old riches,
And the coldest women I be with, weave on Necole Bitchie's,
The broad let me, I sweat it out like P90, get me, doe;
And I'm sure she's got them cakes, but I'm tryin' to see that throat,
Thirty-five-o-o, my coat.
We high, choking on that dope,
Turn around, girl, let a nigga know,
Double M, young Olu, ghost!
[Chorus]
[Verse 3: Meek Mill]
I'm feelin' like the man of the hour, host of the evening,
These niggas is haters, they know that we eatin'.
I got a bitch, she Jamaican, fuck her slow when we speakin'.
Get your chick and I take her, talkin' Cabo for the weekend,
I'm just a young nigga outchea ballin',
All these bad bitches callin',
Rollie all flooded, New Orleans,
Rolls-Royce so big, I can't park it,
Got gold rims on my Aston Martin,
And I'm rollin' up in that foreign,
I said, all my bitches half foreign,
You can run, tell that, ask Martin, hold up.
I flex hard on Instagram,
Post your bitch goin instaham,
Pyrex pot, that's insta-grams.
Drop that work, that's insta-bands.
And I'm sittin', man, on a couple mil',
Swear my life's so fuckin' real,
Back to the wall, like fuck the world!
That nigga say fuck me, I'mma fuck your girl like woah!
[Chorus]
[Verse 4: Kid Ink]
Now go ahead with that bad ass,
And fast cash, right, dash past;
Them silicones and fat ass,
Got cheese out, no rat trap,
Real late night, no cat naps.
You so acrobatic,
Just move it ‘til the bass slap,
The bass slap like the Mackest.
No question we turnt up, workin' on my fourth cup,
Been throwin' all this money like the ass is for purchase.
Very important persons, don't take it too personal,
Got more bottles than homies, it's a movie,
Ready for the show!
[Chorus]
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