Work Work

[Verse 1: Daveed Diggs]
Holler out your city if you ride for it
Let 'em know why you'd die for it
Same reason all these riders get high, so it's—
All medicinal—now what you wan' buy, homie?
Bye, bitch (Bye, bitch), mob shit (Mob shit)
Boss talk (Boss talk), game rich (Game rich)
Name game (Name game), gang signs (Gang signs)
Work on the phone—call it "baseline"
Yup, line dance like a hoedown
Pimps up, daytime, whole block a ghost town
Ghost ride, Ghostface, G's get ghost in a moment
Pour a little for the ghost of the dead homie
Deadpan voice singing Tin Pan Alley songs
Panhandling in front of tourists with they cameraphones
Get it how you live
Or live 'til you get it—get it in

[Chorus: Daveed Diggs and Cocc Pistol Cree]
When the stash low and it's no cash (Get it in)
And you riding, no L's, no tags (Get it in)
And she lookin' like, "You ain't gon' smash" (Get it in)
But she got her legs up on the dash
Show these haters how to— (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Cocc Pistol, ugh)

[Verse 2: Cocc Pistol Cree]
See, I get it, I whip it, I flip it, I pocket the profit (Uh-huh)
Don't know when to stop it; they calling me "Griselda, the Harlot"
My Blahniks erotic, I can't walk, the heel is enormous
The arm in the armrest (Click-clack), these dames is dormant, ugh
I came up from boosting my garments
Switching my handbags how I switch up my polish
(Never catch me in the same blouse) Unless I'm running to Target
(Never catch me in a large crowd) 'Less I'm the life of the party, ugh
I been hitting from September to August
Ahead of my time, like lil' old ladies in bonnets
All I need is a sickle—I'ma reap me a harvest
The hardest thing I had to do was to make the world promise, ugh
I been counting money since elementary
It's why these broke boys ain't getting into me
And when the stash low and it ain't no cashflow—
Shit, I go to work—move it by the boatload

[Chorus: Daveed Diggs]
When the stash low and it's no cash (Get it in)
And you riding, no L's, no tags (Get it in)
And she looking like, "You ain't gon' smash" (Get it in)
But she got her legs up on the dash
Show these haters how to— (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work—

[Verse 3: Daveed Diggs]
Stop! Red lights in the distance (*Woop-woop!*)
You never been to that district they reference
Trunk full of hashish and mesc'line
Your mind is a mess, and this bitch is undressing you
(A.) Mash on the throttle like a G
Put a bottle to your teeth, say "Fuck it"—you a free man
(B.) Pull over to the side of the street (*Woop!*)
Keep your hand on the shotty sitting up under the seat, or—
(C.) Let the cop pull you over, say something slick
On some JAY-Z, "99 Problems"-type shit
(D.) All of the above in your head
But it really doesn't matter, 'cause you already dead
No obituaries, for the most part
Nobody cares—you are not even a co-star
Just a extra; they read about it as a number—
Names got money in they wallet, ho!

[Chorus: Daveed Diggs]
When the stash low and it's no cash (Get it in)
And you riding, no L's, no tags (Get it in)
And she looking like, "You ain't gon' smash" (Get it in)
But she got her legs up on the dash
Show these haters how to— (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work (Go)
Get that work, make that work work