| She just want me like a wedding ring
|
| I keep her dripping like some fucking paint
|
| Money real, I’m smoking hella green
|
| So much ass like Teyana Taylor
|
| Run a trap tryna make a milli
|
| She make it clap tryna make a milli
|
| Don’t lose yourself, remember who yourself
|
| Don’t lose yourself, remember who the best
|
| Take a dab, she got hella ass
|
| I just smoke and I don’t never pass
|
| All these niggas tryna be the man
|
| I get green nigga, Peter Pan
|
| Why they hating nigga? |
| I be living
|
| Why they hating nigga? |
| I be pimpin'
|
| Bad bitch looking so exquisite
|
| Took a risk, double, triple, get it
|
| Third eye feel like it’s on fire
|
| These niggas singing like they on the choir
|
| Swisher blunts with Snoop Dogg
|
| Dogg Pound, woof woof!
|
| No sound, psh psh psh!
|
| Wipe me down cause I’m gorgeous
|
| Ric Flair with the horseman
|
| What you 'bout man? |
| Quit talking
|
| Bout that work, I’m like Fergie
|
| My moms didn’t make it 'til 30
|
| If I don’t make it, don’t worry
|
| Zombie Gang, we ain’t buried
|
| Nigga always been a helping man
|
| Don’t bite the hand that makes you understand
|
| I might go loony, catch you on the 'gram
|
| Flipping, shipping, got a hundred grams
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Caught a jux and do my dance, yeah
|
| Why they copy? |
| They just fans, yeah
|
| On my momma, I’m the man, yeah
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Count it, count it, got my hands full
|
| All this working got my hands full
|
| Why they hating like some damn fools?
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Caught a jux and do my dance, yeah
|
| Why they copy? |
| They just fans, yeah
|
| On my momma, I’m the man, yeah
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Count it, count it, got my hands full
|
| All this working got my hands full
|
| Why they hating like some damn fools?
|
| I’m a minute late, I’m a renegade
|
| Twelvyy got a gauge, let me penetrate, pussy power KKK
|
| Loaded it live, rock in my sock
|
| Patrolling the block with a Glock
|
| Stick to the code, bloody my O’s
|
| Study my notes on the floor
|
| Stuck on this odyssey, huh, alone I need privacy, huh
|
| Shooting my prophecy, only I can see everything I can be, huh
|
| Fuck it, I get it, I get it
|
| I chronicle Riddick, they couldn’t forget it
|
| Planning is hella specific
|
| Start the beginning, a glorious death for the ending
|
| I can’t believe I existed, I’m bout to lead with a vision
|
| I brought the heat to the kitchen
|
| Y’all bout to sleep with the fishes
|
| I run with the Pistons and beatin' them kittens
|
| Zombie the menaces, all of my nemesis
|
| Wrong on the premises
|
| Brother got sentences, I’m moving sinister
|
| Call in the defenses, Twelvyy ridiculous
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Caught a jux and do my dance, yeah
|
| Why they copy? |
| They just fans, yeah
|
| On my momma, I’m the man, yeah
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Count it, count it, got my hands full
|
| All this working got my hands full
|
| Why they hating like some damn fools?
|
| Mecca like Malcolm (and Biggie Medina)
|
| A$AP the cleanest (rolled in the Beamer)
|
| On Amsterdam, feel like I’m Yams, can’t see me, John Cena
|
| Everything money and violence, went to Flatbush for a nina
|
| Live up on Lennox (Church Ave with the check)
|
| Made no casino, got dope in the ringo, we high like the Beatles
|
| Album gon' pop (live on Atlantic)
|
| All over the planet, in Crooklyn we bandits and Harlem do damage
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Caught a jux and do my dance, yeah
|
| Why they copy? |
| They just fans, yeah
|
| On my momma, I’m the man, yeah
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Count it, count it, got my hands full
|
| All this working got my hands full
|
| Why they hating like some damn fools?
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Caught a jux and do my dance, yeah
|
| Why they copy? |
| They just fans, yeah
|
| On my momma, I’m the man, yeah
|
| Bands, grams
|
| Count it, count it, got my hands full
|
| All this working got my hands full
|
| Why they hating like some damn fools? |