| I’m tryna get you high, girl I’m tryna get you fly
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| I’m tryna get you fly, I’m tryna get you fly, girl
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| Stella McCartney, I’m drippin' on swag, and I swear it’s a whole 'nother wave
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| Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
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| Secured the bag, it was Goyard
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| Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
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| Spent a lil' quarter, went push start
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| Checked my persona, that’s a new Ferrari
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| Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
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| All I said was facts, yeah
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| Fresh Dior off the runway
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| Bought a gun store on a Sunday
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| Hit the switch on a Glock 40, my young niggas want bodies
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| I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah
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| I put it on, when I put it on, I’m stackin' it high, I’m stackin' up neat, yeah
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| Drinkin' on muddy, I came in the Rolls buggy with Chanel on my feet, yeah
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| You never seen what I seen, yeah
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| I got codeine, yeah, on me, yeah
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| Givin' you something to see if you never seen it when it’s elite, yeah
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| Bales like pillows for ghost, yeah
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| Chane'-ne' pillows, my room, yeah
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| You couldn’t ruin my swag, I do it with no effort, you know I’ma pop, yeah
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| Soon as I spill it, they mop, yeah
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| Eat it up, every drop, yeah
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| Designer my drugs, designer my jeans, designer way down to my socks, yeah
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| You gotta match up to my fly, I can’t get caught with an imposter
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| I can go back in my archive, I have these bitches starstruck
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| They perpetrate my whole life, I know this shit feel awful
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| Even though I’m ridin' with my glizzy, every day I still feel awesome
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| Stella McCartney, I’m drippin' on swag, and I swear it’s a whole 'nother wave
|
| Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
|
| Secured the bag, it was Goyard
|
| Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
|
| Spent a lil' quarter, went push start
|
| Checked my persona, that’s a new Ferrari
|
| Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
|
| All I said was facts, yeah
|
| Fresh Dior off the runway
|
| Bought a gun store on a Sunday
|
| Hit the switch on a Glock 40, my young niggas want bodies
|
| I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah
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| Ballin', I keep my composure
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| She fuck with me for exposure
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| Drivin' V12, my motor (Skrr)
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| They gon' 'member my name when it’s over
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| Back of the back, I’m comfy
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| Had to put on for my country
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| Pourin' codeine in my tummy
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| Wipe your nose like it’s runny
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| No opp block, sippin' on bubbly
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| Pluto my twin like Dudley
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| I’m on the win like Rocky
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| Balenci my socks, I’m cocky
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| Certified G, I ate my fists
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| Brand new foreign, look fye with no kit
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| Drive in my city, top down, no tints
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| Walk in, red carpet, gotta pose for a pic'
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| Tricks up my sleeve, got bitches on took
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| Ridin' with a 30 clip under my gut
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| Multiple mortgages, I ain’t payin' no rent
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| Wanna die, my assistant gon' bend her fist
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| I ain’t GD but I’ll take care of plenty folk
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| Crack in the truck, got plenty coke
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| Wheezy outta here, more ways than boats
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| Every day I’m fresh, I’m sellin' soap
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| Stella McCartney, I’m drippin' on swag, and I swear it’s a whole 'nother wave
|
| Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
|
| Secured the bag, it was Goyard
|
| Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
|
| Spent a lil' quarter, went push start
|
| Checked my persona, that’s a new Ferrari
|
| Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
|
| All I said was facts, yeah
|
| Fresh Dior off the runway
|
| Bought a gun store on a Sunday
|
| Hit the switch on a Glock 40, my young niggas want bodies
|
| I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah |