[Verse 1: Young Jeezy]
When you know I’m in the Chi, you know I fuck with L.E.P
And you know it’s CTE until the fuckin’ death of me
What you n***as wanna do? You know it’s 30 for a girl
N***a commas on my commas, motherfucker, it’s the world
Black bandanas on them llamas, my lil’ n***as piranhas
Up early in the AM, count a half mill’ in my pyjamas
These rap n***as be frontin’ – I’m a real n***a, I be stuntin’
See me a certified street n***a all the bad bitches be wantin’
N***a, 250, 125 – n***a, all that on the table
Take ‘em out, now let ‘em dry, then I flip them bitches like Egos
Got… in my garage, got units all in my basement
Them ARs with a hundred rounds, swear the cars look like the Matrix
Got grams all on my scale… bag full of that mail
A hundred racks off in the safe house, and I’m savin’ that shit for bail
One time for my lawyer, ten-out-of-ten a n***a’ll beat the charge
Show up to court in an Armani suit, way cooler than Chico the Boss

[Verse 2: Count]
My wrist’s out as I hit the corner, them 50-pointers bling hard
Got a million dollars in the bank and I’m still swiping that Link Card
50 large in that shoebox, the rest, do that on debit
Not only that, I feed the killers, I cleaned up all their credit
See, I ain’t startin’ no rap beef, but we got heat, got money
Touch me and you gon’ see just how much loyalty n***as got for me
Walk inside that studio and start squeezing off in that bitch
Way y’all been falling out you would think I had lean off in them clips
With that said, pull it, n***a – I’ve got boxes on top of bullets, n***a
With a big, stupid-ass cannon on me
You ain’t never catchin’ no footage, n***a
[Hook]
I need commas after my commas, commas after my commas
I’ve got commas after my commas, commas after my commas
We ain’t talking no bands n***a, we ain’t talking no bands, n***a
We ain’t talking no bands n***a, we ain’t talking no bands…

[Verse 3: Spenzo]
…18, still live with mama
Still watch her cook up lasagna
Steel with us when we move
We some animals with the llamas
Sleep on me, snatch your pyjamas
Son, I’m hot as a sauna
That’s heat, that’s that “don’t touch” flow
They bite like piranhas
Hittin’ daughters and hittin’ mamas
Dick kickin’ up family drama
What, you know King Kid Palmer?
Man, them chicks, I wanna palm ‘em
All these young souls dying in the Chi
Man, where the fuck is Obama?
Probably somewhere in the Bahamas
Countin’ commas after his commas

[Verse 4: Ma$e]
You know my mama raised me on wic
My bed used to smell pissy
Got two rollies, two chains, and I’m startin’ to feel like Tity
I did it all for my city when I did it on ‘em like Nicki
If them n***as really want bottles, man, I’ll send ‘em to ‘em like Drizzy
My roof crack, your boo asks “who’s that new cat with his hooves black?”
You know how fools act, get your jewels snatched
Don’t wanna lose that, you’d better scoot back
That green longer than Dino, that Coupe roof is like chemo
That jewelry lit up like Reno, put that dot on you like Bingo
I’m ridin’ round my city, pretty dimple up in my face
I’ve got flooded AP on, white pimples up in that face
I’m photogenic, I know the women…
[?]I know my limits, make no commitments
Now hold up a minute, tre ocho in it
[Hook]

[Verse 5: Moonie]
N***a, I’ve got commas after my commas
Ain’t no need to beat around the bush
Took my bitch taxes and bought me a few pounds of kush
I’ve got A1, my lawyer’s paid
So that mean my business straight
Got a penthouse in the trunk, and it’s all off Section 8
We ain’t talkin’ per Diem and we ain’t talkin’ no budgets
When they say I’ve got a bag, boy, they ain’t talkin’ no luggage
Them n***as’ albums is garbage, man, don’t believe them numbers
They know I keep them shooters, but they ain’t hittin’ no numbers

[Verse 6: T.I.]
I hate a fake n***a and a fuck n***a
I hate to see a sucker actin’ like a tough n***a
We respected by all the gangs, we don’t bang, though
But still’ll pull up on your block with them flamethrowers
I took a hundred grand, turned it to a half a mill’
Got the commas comin', went to prison, money comin’ still
Race any n***a in the game to a hundred mill’
They stallin’ out at 10 or 20, but I’m runnin’ still
All I wear Hustle Gang, n***a, fuck Gucci
See I ain’t the one that talk shit ’bout a n***a then say “what’s up” to him
Nah… you got a problem with me, do it then
Try me partner, bet we end up on the news again
[?]
N***a keep sayin’ my name, oh, somebody finna lose again
He say he driving what I drive, I’ve got the title, though
And I’ve got the title all you pussy n***as fightin’ for
King, n***a…