Lyrics Fresh Outta London - Jake Paul

Fresh Outta London

I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends
Only here to make Ms, call when the check in
I don’t like partial, need a whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got a accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas
If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover of Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah
The wrist is flooded, no competition, can’t listen, ain’t talkin' 'bout shit
I’m lit, they know it, they wanna hate on the music but I’m makin' hits
These hundreds, I throw 'em, I need like eighty a show, that’s some minimum shit
I leave the house and I’m wearin' some shit you can’t get and I swear this shit
cost like a brick
I’ve been runnin' up Ms all week, I’m a vet
Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on the jet
On a different time, this a Audemars Piguet
See eight bad bitches like the brand new 'Vette
Are we gon' get 'em all, why the fuck would I stress?
Think I need rehab, I’m addicted to a check
And she gon' say it’s love but she know I want the sex, bitch
Don’t you dare leave a hickey on my neck
'Cause the Cullinan massage my back, I’m stressed (I'm stressed)
Stars in the roof, get the bitch undressed
With an ass like that, I forget my ex (Haha)
Racks like this meant that God, I’m blessed
I been on top, I should beat my chest
Tell you that she loyal, we gon' put her to the test
Wanna lose your bitch?
Well, then be my guest
'Cause I been real cold in this Moncler vest
I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends
Only here to make Ms, call when the check in
I don’t like partial, need a whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got a accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas
If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover of Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah (Yeah)
The wrist is flooded, no competition, can’t listen, ain’t talkin' 'bout shit
I’m lit, they know it, they wanna hate on the music but I’m makin' hits
These hunnids, I throw 'em, I need like eighty a show, that’s some minimum shit
I leave the house and I’m wearin' some shit you can’t get and I swear this shit
cost like a brick