Yeah I want it all, tell me who is gonna stop me Let that hate dissolve, flyest niggas in the party I step in this bitch feelin' like I'm John Gotti I just wanna ball, tell my haters that I'm sorry Ay, I just wanna ball, tell my haters that I'm sorry She

Pocketful of money, parking lot full of them haters Triple beam dreamin', crib with 2 elevators 20 flat screens they got cameras every angle Dope been coming so you know the income major Rule number 1 I can't do business with a stranger Contract killers

I've been runnin' shit since I was the age of 12 Since a young nigga, been a hard-headed hot-head Duck feds, lay low, they do what I say so I've been gettin' money since I learned how to walk for real I see the haters throwin' shots, but they just

'cause breakin old habits so hard to do You got rich 'n' g shits still a part of you 'cause breakin' old habits so hard to do You still watch for da haters 'n' the rugged crew When I was shot dat nigga like I started to The coup man 'cause breakin' old

I'm just slidin' down the 'crest on a hot summer day All these diamonds on it got me feelin' some type of way Drop the top on these haters 'cause the top in the way And if you ain't gettin' no money then you just in the way Took my shirt off in the vert

This song is for you, this song is for you I ain't singing to you... I ain't singing to you To all the lovers in the place... lovers in the place To all the haters in the place... haters in the place (You know it, you know it) (you know it, you know it)

I choose death before dishonor I'd rather die than live down on my knees Bury me like a soldier, with my dignity! Bury me! (Bury me!) To the haters, the takers, the liars, all the vultures and the bottom feeding scum The FCC, the FBI and every tin god

She got a rock I'm gettin' stoned Here's to happy ever after And here's to balls and chains And here's to all us haters Of old lovers new last names And here's to holdin' up And gettin' right where I belong Read it in the paper

I was made for this shit, rookie of the year I wouldn’t show up for the freshman list Your swag expired, you ain’t fresh like this Shit on all my haters, I’ma make them pissed Trade my Honda to a Bentley Now these fuckboys wanna end me Ammunition, I got

All the haters, all the lovers All the people I ain't seen in too many years All the friends that are more like brothers All the faces in the bleachers Yeah this one's for the ones who got me here The ones that I drank all those beers with Made it