[Juvenile talking]
Whoa! C'mon Whoa! I hear you niggaz heart pumpin
c' mon, whoa!, whats up, whoa! U.T.P, U.T.P

[Verse 1: Juvenile]
he gotta be in too much 'bout everything that he touch
out of the roof money get packed up and moved in the truck
kill me if you feel I ain't worthy
I inherited skills from murky niggaz that's as real as my Saints jersey
I stand here posted in the worst of times
knowing niggaz after me, gonna rehearse my grind
I'm not a prophet, but I could teach you how to cock it and pop it
and how to put some money in your pocket
you see something you like go 'head and cop it
but watch it, niggaz gone knock it
trying to get you for your paper when them bitches is jockinyou might do lil' daddy like that, but this is not him
don't look for your people to help you, my niggaz done shot them
my people done told me I could roll
I got a reputation for beating niggaz and hoes
stickin' to the G code, 'tees, 'rees, and 'bows
pop a Ex, smoke a blunt, if you believe it then Whoa!

[Baby a.k.a. Birdman (chorus x2)]
Whoa! I got to get it Lil Daddy (so keep your hands up)
Whoa! I got to have it Lil Daddy (so keep your hands up)
Whoa! I got to get it Lil Daddy, I got to have it Lil Daddy
I want that brand new Caddy

[Verse 2]
I'm way over the top with mines