Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fresh Outta London, artist - Jake Paul. Date of issue: 23.07.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
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 |