Lyrics:

Hallelujah, hallelujah
I'm in this kitchen getting money, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
I'm on this block counting money, hallelujah
Hallelujah I'm in this bitch getting money, hallelujah
I'm in this bitch getting money, hallelujah

They call me Jay'Ton for a fucking reason
Cause I keep them tons each and every season
Cross me or mines, you no longer breathing
Keep a ton of guns just give me a reason
I swear God its time to [?] these niggas
They playing stiff but I ain't believe in these niggas
Brick talk, bitch I swear I been feeding these niggas
50 in this chopper time for relieving these niggas
Kingpin living, got these bitches choosing
If you want them cheaper prices gots to come to Houston
Sets is where I'm from, we wrap it up and ship it
So much work in diesel trucks it ain't no way to lift it
I'm in this kitchen, come place your order
If I ain't got it at the trap, I got it at the border
Born in that valley, next to my connect
To deep in this vette, just me and that check

When you get money say Illuminati
Looking like a white angel, a white Rarri
Hallelujah, I believe in God
Take a brick soft and stretch it, I believe in hard
Amen hallelujah
I can make this shit ugly, Freddy Krueger
Hustle Gang, hustle numbers
Got arrange kush prices that's hooked on chronic
Dirty money, I ain't talking Diddy
I got kiloads of heroin in the holy city
Amen, cross the plug
Went off with the packers he one showing love
Fuck em I ain't paying more
Pull up in my hood, bitch you getting robbed
Niggas allows about the money and nothing matters
My family and niggas and you come after

I woke up in this Phantom too lost to remember
So been trying a to play with snow like the month of December
In this kitchen with the work, whipping chickens for dinner
If I ain't trapper of the year, I'm the perfect contender
King Truth, white knights
My connect got so much action I'm like with the price
White lips slide through these bright lights
I keep a heater, everything on me covered in ice
I'm on this white sand maybe somewhere lost in Cuba
And I keep a shooter Phantom disappear you're like Bermuda
So many chains hanging off young Truth I should've been a jeweler
This bitch I got ain't dropping off the truth sure no schooler
Ain't shit as real as me, [?]
Get money way to much to count, [?]
I'm all bricks, gold hands, this work stretch, no rubber bands