Call me Dracula ‘cause all I
Do is count chips
Young Money Minnie, I ain't
Talking 'bout the mouse, trick
These girls running like I
Just threw the bouquet
They know I'm headed to the top like a toupee
Now all these bums is wondering
Where I be's at you ain't a Barbie
It's none of ya freaking bees wax
These little rappers I can see
Them in my dash cam
I know they're grouchy like Oscar
By the trash can
I'm on stage, you can sit in the crowd
I be up in lear jets
Take a left at the cloud (Haha)
I think she need the heimlich
She's the chokin' kind
She gets no burn, no smoking sign (yeah)
Metaphor heaven, so they approve Nicki like
My credit score’s seven
Mac and cheese, six, fried chicken da guts
And I'm killing these bitches
Mike Vickin' it up, chyeah!
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