The Mac lyrics

[Intro: Kamaiyah]
Show a little love to Mac Dre, ayy
Show a little bit of love to Mac Wanda, ayy
Show a little love to Mac Dre, ayy
Show a little bit of love to Mac Wanda, ayy
From the Bay, show a little love to Mac Dre
f*ck the police, get to stompin' on a Honda, ayy
Show a little love to Mac Dre, ayy
Pop a molly, get to smokin' marijuana (Keep It Lit)

[Chorus: Kamaiyah]
Started makin' bank, got lots of haters
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Countin' up bread, it's not a pay cut
Got dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Big Bentley coupe, this b*tch is spacious
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
I'ma keep mobbin' with all my day-ones
'Bout dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper

[Verse 1: Kamaiyah]
You say we's friends, but you not the homie, ayy
Ho, I could tell, how you hatin' on me, ayy
I wear Chanel, got frеsh makeup on me, ayy
My shooter tеll and he stinkin', homie, ayy
Rich b*tch, got like four whips, ayy
You broke as sh*t, ain't got no chips, ayy
Arm, neck, wrist frozen, ayy
I'm so Eastside Oakland, ayy
I do what I wanna, watch me bend the corner
f*ck OPD, f*ck around, start doin' donuts
Tonight, you f*ckin' me, I forget it in the mornin'
Got the city litty every time a n*gga showin' up
Went stupid on sh*t and I ain't slowed up
Big gold chain, gold rings, now it's froze up
I f*ck with it all day, I be on one
Glock in my purse, I won't change, I don't trust no one
[Chorus: Kamaiyah]
Started makin' bank, got lots of haters
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Countin' up bread, it's not a pay cut
Got dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Big Bentley coupe, this b*tch is spacious
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
I'ma keep mobbin' with all my day-ones
'Bout dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper

[Verse 2: Mistah F.A.B.]
Punk rock, asked me to go grocery shop
No siree, Bob, I'm in the mob, that's not my job
You know whatty? I do it for the cuddy
Thizz face in a b*tch face, that snow bunny
Game on Viagra, I go hard
And I treat my b*tch like an ATM card
Won't buy her Goyard nor a Birkin bag
Save the drama for your mama, you're not worth all that
Dust myself off like I just stole third
Talk baseball when you're in the presence of nerds
Gee willikers, jiminy crickets, and them shenanigans
I'm dipped in butter, fly as a mannequin
Saucy, fresh as a manicure, ooh
Throwback Dope Era, tracksuit is velour
And I'm still S-T-U-P-I-D
And I own the club, I don't need ID, yee
[Chorus: Kamaiyah]
Started makin' bank, got lots of haters
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Countin' up bread, it's not a pay cut
Got dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
Big Bentley coupe, this b*tch is spacious
Gettin' dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper
I'ma keep mobbin' with all my day-ones
'Bout dolla-la-la-la, lots of paper