Lyrics Pastor - Jag, Tiffany Gouché

Pastor

Yeah, my guy Morris, oh yeah
Woo, this that Loren Miller shit, yeah
Peep me out
Yeah, niggas laughin', them niggas lookin' quite funny
They saw me chillin' with Meek, I was fat and lookin' quite bummy
Smartest niggas who diss me, them niggas lookin' like dummies
They never thought that they’d see me, I come in lookin' like money
I swear, park the Bentley in the hood and still say what’s up
A nigga dick is worth money, bitches should pay to fuck
Never forget the real, these niggas countin' me out
Like I ain’t spendin' on that, nigga, this shit for bills
But ain’t no fallin', I’m big ballin', my bitches ill
Her dress is fitted, the kicks is killed, she the shit for real
These niggas get on they tough shit, I’ma get the steel and eat
Talkin' Wolfgang Puck shit when they ship the meal
Helen diamonds, I gots the boss on the trip, you know
Grill up the calamari, the lobster sauce for the drip, that’s real
So much money, I feel like I need a posse
I’m killin' you seed, cocky
I’m breaded like DiBiase, it’s JAG
My time comin', it’s the maker
And we just tryna double up that pay stub
The whole world changin', you should shape up
And you can feel my soul when I speak
Speak, ain’t tryna preach, tryna preach
Follow me, yes I’ve got the mess
Let me speak, ain’t tryna preach, tryna preach
Best believe you gon' get that mess
Look, uh, Swizz Beatz' dad told me to stay calm
Black power, dark skin and wavy, I feel like Akon
They approach me like they talkin' to Joffrey, like what you say, bruh?
Prolly kick me out the game for my words, I feel like Dre ma
I was movin' hand to hand, door to door, like Avon
Mama made a great, got her walkin' 'round like she’s Jay’s mom
Yeah, I never look to fail, remember niggas had to eyeball
'Cause I ain’t have no bread, the cops took the scale
I get a deal, I look to sell, these niggas look to tell
Ballin' but I still’d be the coach, it’s like they booked Latrell
I ain’t impressed, talkin' high shit, fly on the jet
Tile the text, tell a bad bitch to lie on her chest
A nigga fly, I leave the brib and land right on the mess
That’s the shit, I kiss her neck and land right on her breasts
Boss move, I got a table 'fore I got in the club
'Cause a nigga drownin' up in money, feel like Pac in the tub
JAG
My time comin', it’s the maker
And we just tryna double up that pay stub
The whole world changin', you should shape up
And you can feel my soul when I speak
Speak, ain’t tryna preach, tryna preach
Follow me, yes I’ve got the mess
Let me speak, ain’t tryna preach, tryna preach
Best believe you gon' get that mess