| And I’m a man of my word, that I got nothing at all
|
| So tell me now does it hurt, or is it too late?
|
| I’m a man of my law, I gotta keep my weight up
|
| But who will lean if I fall? |
| But never mind, I’m fly, you know
|
| She the type to seek love and make it everlasting
|
| I’m the type to wake up and say you’re never having
|
| I mean I fucked the girl with hella passion
|
| But it’s cold how we smashing
|
| Left her sleeping on a separate mattress
|
| I think her body makes for better practice
|
| Good excuse for my absence like «Flacko where your ass been?»
|
| Heard you done with fashion, now yo ass is acting
|
| I’m tripping off the acid, now yo ass is looking massive
|
| This ain’t the shit equipped with columns from my reckless swagging
|
| This that dark house party with this record blasting
|
| Rolling spliffs, clique beside me, fingers Liberace
|
| When I seen this bitch in Venice, Tommy and some mean Huaraches
|
| I’m all alone though, mood music makes me bop slower
|
| Trippin' on how I shifted pop culture
|
| Changed Hip-Hop on ya, smoking like a rasta was my pops culture
|
| I be damned if I die sober
|
| I’ll be sure to visit Pac for ya
|
| And shout outs my pretty women in the spot tonight
|
| Let em see them fuckin' hands
|
| And for the freaks that love the niggas with the Jeeps
|
| Lex, coupes and the Beamers and the Benz, come again
|
| When my death calls, I pray the Lord accept collect calls
|
| Cause I be playing with these womens like they’re sex dolls
|
| Call my Prada prior, cause it’s dropping next fall
|
| Don’t you short the next ball, my closet like the Met ball
|
| She said, «I just love it when you speak soft-spoken
|
| Up in the magazines with your teeth all golden»
|
| Took the whole year off just to learn to make beats
|
| Dropped the flames on my release and leave the streets all smokin'
|
| That touch your soul music, I get you higher, grab your lighter fluid
|
| Might add a preacher and a choir to it
|
| I speak the father’s music, hallelujah
|
| Always Strive &Prosper, stupid
|
| Even Montell can’t tell you how he do it
|
| Sit back and watch me do it
|
| Okay let’s get past all the swag trapping and fashion talking
|
| You want that take it to gats or keep it in rapping talking
|
| They rapping bars it get embarrassed, it actually happens often
|
| You my son like my last abortion, I’m just laughing off it
|
| I changed rap with fashion four way, yeah I’m that important
|
| You jack my style, she jack me off, and y’all both acting awkward?
|
| Jiggling baby, nah, go ahead bitch
|
| Ain’t nothing better than the pretty big forehead bitch
|
| Listen close I got some shit to tell you, motherfuckers get familliar
|
| It’s not just model bitches on my genitalia
|
| Did Azalea’s from Australia, trips to Venezuela
|
| Cinderella’s under my umbrella for different weather
|
| Ella, ella, ay just play it like I didn’t tell ya
|
| Niggas taking pictures any time we get together
|
| And hope to fly away one day just like some love birds
|
| Only one word I’m afraid of is the «love"word
|
| More power to you, more power to you my lovely one
|
| More power to you, more power to you my lonely one
|
| More power to you, more power to you my lovely one
|
| What’s up bruh? |
| That all depends
|
| With friends like you, who needs friends
|
| Sometimes the best advice is no advice
|
| Especially when it’s your advice
|
| Man remember
|
| Your man was on stage dressed like a family member
|
| Man everything basic to Ye Guevara
|
| That means Saint Laurent is my Zara
|
| I remember Rochelle ain’t wanna fuck me with the polo
|
| Ay bitch you missed out, hashtag #Fomo
|
| I got one child, one child
|
| But I’m fuckin', fuckin', fuckin' like I’m tryna make four more
|
| They wanna throw me under a white jail
|
| Cause I’m a black man with confidence of a white male
|
| Hallelujah |