What up world, welcome to the major leagues
Style's sick, quick to make a hater sneeze
Baby girl, I'm just that official
Need a tall glass of me just to wet your whistle
I stay high, stay fly, I'm a frequent flyer
I got the belt, I'm the king, call me Sire
Mike Stud, but you can call me Vinny Chase
I'm with the model chick
Pretty face, skinny waist
I dick her down, she needs CPR
Then she want a replay, like DVR
And I roll with the top dogs
We shut the party down, like cop cars
Next night I'm in the bar with some heavy hitters
And the girls on our balls like spaghetti dinners
I'm the kid with the glamour
Willy Beamen, I live for the camera

Stand up, what now?
Hands up, touchdown
Touchdown, yeah everybody
Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air
Now bounce, come on, bounce, come on
Bounce
Come on, bounce
Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air
Now bounce, come on, bounce, come on
Bounce
Bounce, bounce, bitch

Fuck patience, I'm tired of waitin'
I'm speeding to the top, it's a violation
Green light, go and write the ticket
So close to the top spot that I can sniff it
You smell that? Yeah me too
Catch me out in Maui with a brew on a ski doo
What up girl, I know you like that
Damn right come here, I know you like that
Mike Stud, the cook, I got the recipe
Sittin' on top of the bread like a sesame
And I got my enemies in a frenzy
Makin' memories while you're barely makin' ends meet
Nobody sick as me, run y'all history
Go on, get a clue, I'm an unsolved mystery
And I do it on a day to day basis
They try to hate, but you can't erase greatness