Intro

Bad singers, son of a bitch

That drug keeps coming in, two, three
Your bitch keeps looking so fresh
Those black guys are saying I'm not doing it right
Sales are going up, yes, they can see
Dude, you don't have the level, the neighborhood knows it
That's why they'll never let Bardero$ fade away
I'm dancing with nothing, taking syrup
Money, money, for you, the one who knows, knows (yeah, huh, yes)

In the house of hustle, six kilos in the closet
The one with the fine fat understands me because he knows me
They ask: How is it done?, if I don't talk to the gods
I don't give them a chance, mommy, this is for you to enjoy
From the darkest corner of the fair
Expert in the field, the king of the academy
At 14, I was already hiding drugs in my socks
My mother is my saint, the street is my owner

Me, again, a-a-again
Hustlers, hood, racks, sick ass, thoug
A-A-Again, a-a-agai-gain
Smoky ass shit like every single day (this is not music, it's drugs)
Me, again, a-a-again (yeh)
I don't give a fuck
What, nigga, what?
A-A-Again, a-a-agai-gain
With my mind on my money and my money on my mind