* Allah Real provides background vocals

[Chorus: Popa Chief]
Churnin' cream, til I make butter
Going to be a millionaire, I didn't stutter
Got, places to go, people to see, money to get
Parties to crash, mics to rip, hoes to hit
Niggas across town, it's about to get flipped
All around the world, it's the same old shit

[Popa Chief]
Since mo' sicks to my nigs, we out of here
On the tour around the world, for a whole year
When we get back, bank accounts on phat
Burnt Biskut products, take like that
Dope on CD's and tapes, as well as in the flesh
My raps is like sex, they relieve stress
Make you feel gooder than a conjugel visit
Knock-knock, who is it? The black wizard of 2G's
Brainstorming, bread stacking
What ya'll know about, rice and lima beans
Bo-bo sneaks and, no-name jeans
No cream, no bleem on a daily basis
I thought I'd reach the finish line, it's just an oasis
Got burnt, that's when I learned you gotta crumble with the crisis
I took a vow to get rid all of my devices
And always sell my product at reasonable prices
Got up off the benches, brought me twin monkey wrenches
Some like 'em blue, some like 'em black, some like 'em crunk
Find out what I got, you violate my wig whoa
I'm not to be fucked with, not my seeds or my duckes
If so, it's gonna be hell to pay, more than another bitch suck
Don't make me super soak you with the stainless steamer
And do my get away in the seven fifty L beemer
Acurate when I shoot, I'm in route, to the new to hold loot
Nothing but the loot, so help the loot
Peace to my disfunctional group
Of off the hook troops, a thousand Timb boots
Romping, stomping, all the way to the bank
Make a check-out to cash, and leave the rest blank... my foul stank

[Chorus]