Hit Em Up

Take money, take money
May — mommy, take money
May — mommy, take money

First off, fuck your bitch and the crew you roll with
Mia, you’re like me, just XXL
You copy me, but where’s your baby face?
I only know one Mia — that’s Paper Planes (A)
Your producer’s clearly a fan of mine
But my looks won’t fit your fat ass, hey
He’s with you, but he’s thinking of my juice
And this girl represents Belarus (You know the rules)
You’re Dobby, sorry, but I saw those docs
You’re not fresh, but these bitches drank all the juice
I don’t roll in a mask, honey, yeah, I’m not a quad
But maybe this kitty bends it easy in doggy
Mom’s in a new school, I’m putting rappers against the wall
Work on your parts if grades are stressing you out
Ninety in the chat — it’ll still be too little
You’re like graduates — worried about the score
We don’t roll, I don’t drive, don’t push me
For you, I’m like Kendrick, we’re not like them
Baby boom, uh, they’re scared of the beef
Yeah, I’m a girl, but I got bigger balls

Run if you see May
Who is mom? It’s lil' bitch May, ha
They shout from afar — that’s the image
Hot today, but you’ll cool off soon
Baby, I hit 'em up

Tell the fans
How you ran around the fests with MONEYKEN in the summer
If Maybi’s in the lineup, we raise the price
I took over the stage, so don’t let you on it
You’re a pussy, where are your manners?
I’ll blow away your concert hall, it’s made of plywood
You’re getting slapped by the rich kids at the corporate gig
Your boyfriend will say: "Well, what’s up? We got paid"
You’re not a pop queen, not Dora, and not Kill Eva
Songs are fast food, only good for warming up
You take fees for live shows where there’s no work
But you’d better take notes
If mom’s on the block — then babymama feels at home, huh
Gas flowing like a stream, my hood’s like Gazprom, huh
She’s dissing Maybi, ‘cause she needs album promo
But live, she still can’t say a single word to me
What ghostwriting, baby? Credits are in sight
My crew’s got no ghosts, bae, we’re a real crew
But I know who wrote for you, don’t pretend to be true
One more post from you, and I’ll easily spill their names, huh
You’re losing it if you’re gassing up on baby
I’m losing it in an armored Beamer
You’re fakes, only worried about fame
But there’s only one queen here, and her name is Maybi

Run if you see May
Who is mom? It’s lil' bitch May, ha
They shout from afar — that’s the image
Hot today, but you’ll cool off soon
Baby, I hit 'em up

They listen to Baby, yeah, but I’m not Bieber
No one’s seen us at your parties
Vika’s the new 2Pac, you’re far from Biggie
Honey, only P. Diddy could kill me
Pow, take money