Texty: Dipset. More Than Music, Vol. 2. More Than Music.

(feat. Juelz Santana, Hell Rell, JR Writer)

[Verse 1: Juelz Santana]
Been riding clean
Two hundred thousand dollar machines
Capital B with the wings
Flyin' in a flying spur
Grippin' on a iron berg, I in hurr
Shorty in dem designer, jeans
Damn, baby you lookin' kinda scrumptous
What are those Citizens Rocker Republics
Antique jeans, I'm a antique fiend
Let my antique sag off my antique ass
Crack for me, I'm back indeed
Bitch I'm all about my paper like a fax machine
On track like half your weed
Spit crack, two half a keys, that's a key
You can serve that to fiends
That be me, Santana
I'm ballin' like an athlete
You niggaz stinkin' it up like athlete's feet (Ill)
Yep, yep, I'm higher than the clouds
Flyer than the owl, hyper than the crowd
Screaming out liud, tell ya bitch calm down
There's no competitor better than a nigga like me
Etcetera, etcetera
I'm the hottest out, better check my temperature
Thermometer popped, can't check my temperature
Nope

[Hook: J.R. Writer]
You couldn't run wit' us
Listen, you don't stunt enough
I get it down, get it down, but my money up
Throw a couple bucks, show you how a baller do this
Lemme walk you through it, yup, it's more than music

[Verse 2: Hell Rell]
Drip, drip, baby that's the candy paint
Falling off the Ferrari while blowin' danky-dank
Love beef so I got my shooters on deck
On the ice so I threw the whole cooler on my neck
I take 'em to Divas, straight from a no-name hoe
But take 'em to my hood, show 'em my cocaine flow
They say this your other profession
Don't worry 'bout what I'm sellin'
Askin' too many questions, just carry my Smith & Wesson
Married to gettin' fresh, ya see this rock on my hand
What it cost me, ya know, a brick, about 1000 grams
Listen homie I'm the man, there's nothing you can tell me
Some many on ya head, 20 grand on the skully
Where do you shop, never seen those jeans
And I keep it G'd up like I'm Gino Greene
Ruger out in the streets, you see me grind
And the chrome rims shine on that DP-9
It's Mr. Ruger

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Juelz Santana]
Cats talkin' 'bout it's time to give the winner some
Slow down boy, it's time to give the kid a run
Paper chaser, paper spender
And I was built for the ballin' like the Staples Center
Can I get a what what, maybe a ooh ooh
But for my homies out there, maybe a Soo-Woo Soo-Woo
Catch me riding round on the prowl
Lookin' for some girls gone wild
I put your chick int eh Coupe, and she thick and she cute
They love it when I hit the button, dismiss the roof
Damn, we just had a hardtop
Now look, this car got a bald spot
While your jaw drop, her draws drop
Damn, shorty got a bald spot
I'm rock-n-roll like Guns & Roses
The consequences of my guns is roses
I reload just to un-reload it
Life's a bitch and yep, we bonin', we open

[Hook]