| Keep it real don’t cost a nigga nothing
|
| I don’t wanna hear it, it ain’t 'bout the money
|
| They ain’t used to want me, now they all on me
|
| I know they jealous, they acting funny
|
| Shorty thick, I ain’t talking 'bout chubby
|
| You gotta go when I’m through cumming
|
| Still having old shoebox hundreds
|
| Got her hooked on narcotics, not phonics
|
| Uh, put the bricks in the trap and they calling it yummy
|
| Big booty freak, she suck dick with the bonnet
|
| Put a pole in the condo, they calling it Onyx
|
| Hit the dope, say my name three times like Jumanji
|
| Three-five in the Backwood, I get the munchies
|
| Bitch get that dope, then can tweak like a junkie
|
| Twenty-eight glass bags served like a luncheon
|
| Line full of junkies, it look like a function
|
| Longway, bitch
|
| You hating, your blood full of jealousy
|
| You ain’t real, you can’t stand next to me
|
| How the fuck you do that? |
| With the recipe
|
| These fuck niggas can’t get the best of me
|
| Gold on my neck, it’s a treasury
|
| I walk with myself and I’m ten steps ahead of me
|
| Ha, little-bitty boy, you petty
|
| Ain’t gotta ask if I’m ready
|
| Fuck what you say you gon' do to me
|
| Ain’t gotta ask if I’m strapped, got two on me
|
| All of that cap shit ain’t fooling me
|
| Nigga, this trap shit ain’t new to me
|
| I put the pack where it’s 'posed to be
|
| Gotta make sure all my niggas got groceries
|
| Got the S on the Draco like Bumblebee
|
| Ooh, I take a loss, that shit humble me
|
| Bitch, I’m a boss, you could come work for me
|
| Run up the sack like deep blue sea
|
| I eat the pack up like bon appétit
|
| Couldn’t get it off, he got cold feet
|
| Junkies in the trap give me ARP
|
| The MPR chain with baguettes 3D
|
| The bottom of the hill got a trap by the creek
|
| Gotta keep a stick, call me AR Wee
|
| Young nigga still bought the MPA piece
|
| Run to the pack back to back like a zombie
|
| Eating up the drip, call 'em Crocodile Dundee
|
| Cook up that whip, I can serve to your auntie
|
| Balenci' Jumanji, they come from Little Italy
|
| Got Cartier frames, double G with the CC
|
| If molly bricks shining, gotta come from overseas
|
| Hit the lot, went off-white color in the seat
|
| Back then, they ain’t love me, now VV my teeth
|
| Change the TV when a rich nigga speak
|
| Got a big booty freak in a Benz GT
|
| Four sticks in the Trackhawk, riding four deep
|
| Get the bag, get the bands, then you stepping like Meech
|
| Put the rice in the pan, then you cook it like Geechees
|
| Neighborhood Crip, I’m bluer than Jeezy
|
| I can make a bitch go, «Woo, that’s Jesus»
|
| Richard Mille baguettie, the burr, new freezer
|
| I can make a bitch break her hip with the visa
|
| Stripes on my back, I’m the referee, zebra
|
| I can make the pack disappear like cleaver
|
| AP the Patek, I ice it, Geneva
|
| Runtz in the blunt, we don’t smoke on sativa
|
| Hop out Spaghetti Junction with a nina
|
| 'Bout my family, we gon' pop, Catalina
|
| I’m on Xannies, she wishing like I’m a genie
|
| Fettucini with the LV beanie
|
| Independent, but the bank keep ringing
|
| but the case keep pending
|
| Two bricks, spent it on the MPA pendant
|
| Longway, bitch
|
| Keep it real don’t cost a nigga nothing
|
| I don’t wanna hear it, it ain’t 'bout the money
|
| They ain’t used to want me, now they all on me
|
| I know they jealous, they acting funny
|
| Shorty thick, I ain’t talking 'bout chubby
|
| You gotta go when I’m through cumming
|
| Still having old shoebox hundreds
|
| Got her hooked on narcotics, not phonics
|
| Uh, put the bricks in the trap and they calling it yummy
|
| Big booty freak, she suck dick with the bonnet
|
| Put a pole in the condo, they calling it Onyx
|
| Hit the dope, say my name three times like Jumanji
|
| Three-five in the Backwood, I get the munchies
|
| Bitch get that dope, then can tweak like a junkie
|
| Twenty-eight glass bags served like a luncheon
|
| Line full of junkies, it look like a function
|
| Longway, bitch |