Songwriter: Mac Miller

[Chorus 1]
This is my biography
It's really somethin' that you gotta read
You all are weak, words that make me fall asleep (Yo)
Dime nots, please, can you drop the beat? (Look, look)

[Verse 1]
Now, everybody, can you clap your hands?
When you hear this out the speakers, be like, "That's the jam"
And ask your mans if he'll please turn it up
And we can gather round the cypher while we burn a Dutch
Words rush out my mouth when it's my turn to bust
Try and challenge the battler, you herbs get crushed
'Cause you'll be smoked right away like the herb I puff
Steel City, put your hands up, the 'Burgh is us
Smokin' purple stuff, hold it down for the potheads
Cross the cat, he'll fill your body up with hot lead
I'm not sayin' what's not said before
Takin' words out the book and I'm makin' metaphors
'Cause I ('Cause I)

[Chorus 2]
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it's what they take from me why I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it really ain't funny what I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you

[Verse 2]
We all tryna be rich, man, it's all for the cash
Whether you slingin' trees or movin' 8-balls in the bag
Now from this jail cell where you callin' your dad
Sayin' you droppin' out of class and you followin' rap
So don't worry 'bout the cops, dad, I hate the feds
I'ma make it, Pops, try not to hang your head
'Cause I spit so sick that I should stay in bed
I'ma keep makin' bread 'til I'm layin' dead
I'm collectin' dollars, and quarters, and nickels, and dimes
My hat turned upside down while I'm kickin' a rhyme
I'm sittin' reclined, y'all claim real but you all sound fake
All for the money, fam, all for the pound cake
And when I get rich, I won't forget about my family
I'll be spreadin' money all throughout the whole family tree
The words I speak with herbs and trees about the currency
I gotta make money 'fore the dollar bill murder me

[Chorus 2]
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it's what they take from me why I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it really ain't funny what I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you

[Chorus 1]
This is my biography
It's really somethin' that you gotta read
You all are weak, words that make me fall asleep
Dime nots, please, can you drop the beat?

[Chorus 2]
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it's what they take from me why I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you
I gotta, gotta, gotta make money
Even if I gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta take money
And it really ain't funny what I gotta do
Handle your business before it handle you

Mac Miller

Malcolm James McCormick (Jan. 19, 1992 – Sept. 7, 2018), who performed as Mac Miller, was an American rapper and producer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Since releasing his first mixtape at just 15 years old, he became one of the leaders of the new school of young and highly talented “weirdos.”

Mac’s credibility in the rap game increased ten-fold and resulted in a slew of quality releases, including 2012’s Macadelic mixtape, his second studio album Watching Movies With The Sound Off, and his critically-acclaimed 2014 mixtape Faces.

He had multiple alter-egos, most notably his producer alias Larry Fisherman and his sick and twisted pitched-up persona (à la Quasimoto,) Delusional Thomas.