| Lyric | Song | Year |
| Live or let die, party get high, and tell them lames to the plane or let fly | |
| Rock camo shorts, Chuck T's, and smoke papers | |
| Tell 'em go home, 'cause I'ma go hard | |
| Marijuana minutes, nigga times slow, on the kush clock, its always time to smoke | |
| College educated, she graduated, any bills she can't front her parents paid it | |
| My bitches only want two things, that's to get high, and kick it | |
| | Lyric | Song | Year |
| So far so good, 'cause I've been doing things that y'all wish y'all could | |
| We never low, away we go, like we supposed to go | |
| When I make it, they should put my face up on a million dollar bill, (Yup) 'cause that's how I feel | |
| In the back of the club, with a stack full of dough, drop it low like a pro | |
| You know what it is, everything I do, I do it big | |
| I don't give a mother **** | |
|