This your boy Wiz Khalifa man
And I'm a talk my shit, yeah, bitch
I hope ya'll niggas is used to hearing my voice by now,
And if not, get used to it
I woke up from a California dream again,
Next to someone's daughter who I'll probably never meet again
You call her a groupie hoe?
Ask me I say she a fan
Spending all her hours thinking bout what she gonna do and when
I be on that 747 flying frequent shit
You get all the press and try to check for when I'm quedelent
And get home in the daytime, way about the PM
Tryin' to finish living out this dream so I be sleeping in
And they ask me if I'm lonely
I ain't I guess my money good cause she my one and only
Critics got they face up in my business gettin nosy
But I'm decider putting on for anyone who knows me
No, I ain't in my position getting comfy
Drinking bigger and ifa chief and bring alisa oz
I stay with me some backup, in case she wanna phone me
He gonna play the pastor, make a nigga holy
They call me the 501 Don
Mr. know he got a pear of 501's on
My marijuana strong and these hoes ain't shit but probably calls
Dog I met her at the club, we was fucked up wildin
Made it to my crib we was both drunk, driving
Now you on some lame shit, claiming you're my main bitch
Do us both a fav, don't text, don't call me, darling
I was made to ball it's like Spaulding rolling
They say I'm the bomb and they call Wiz, atomic
Hotter than New Orleans, or George Forman
Real, and Chevy eyes caught like Jalil
I'll is what I go so I need suda fast
Big dog nigga all ya'll brutal fat
Money in the wall all through the vent
Still got time to blow