Lyrics:

I'm in Vegas getting blown by the ghost of Kurt Cobain

Talking all that shit but 'Me' and 'We' are not the fucking same

Big Game like Super Bowl bitch I'm automatic

Walk in the fucking room bitch you know its me I'm aromatic

Smells like weed, pussy, crushed up pills, and dollar bills

Idiot losers making shit beats say it kills

WALK AROUND TOWN WITH BLUE BILLS FALLING OUT MY BACK POCKET

STROLL IN THE GUCCI STORE AND SAW A PURSE YOU KNOW I HAD TO COP IT

MY WORTH IS EXPENENTIAL CALL ME E IN DIGITS

MY SHOOTERS GO CRAZY I (unintelligible)

Sorry about that I had to clean up all my fucking cum

Just fucking shot my shit all over my drum

You make no cents I'm making dollars

You say it wrong its not 'Tame Impaller'

Pull up to Macys acting a fool

Order take out and eat it by the pool

Flipping bricks out of a building that used to be a Pizza Hut

File my taxes in a building that used to be a Pizza Hut

How come every Shake Shack got a bitch named Gretchen in it

Smack my lips after drinking lemonade with caffeine in it

How come all these fucking British 'people' always end their sentences with innit