| I got big rocks jumpin' out my brand new Patek watch
|
| Ice ice baby, uh-huh, I got a whole lot
|
| Nigga, you’s a nobody, you ain’t got no bodies
|
| These niggas they know 'bout it, these niggas know 'bout me (Tay Keith,
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| fuck these niggas up)
|
| Step up on the scene
|
| Diamonds bling, these hoes scream
|
| Checkerboard Louie V
|
| I’m so fresh and so clean clean
|
| Stuff them bands in my jeans
|
| Slap them thirties in them things
|
| Pull the trigger, let it sing
|
| Then go smoke a Russian cream
|
| I got money blue and green
|
| Drop them racks on double G’s
|
| Yeah, I’m a Gucci fiend
|
| Feel like Tarzan, all these trees
|
| I get so high I can’t breathe
|
| Like LeBron, bitch, I’m a king
|
| But I never leave my heat
|
| Yeah, what the fuck you mean?
|
| Hop in and hear the exhaust
|
| Hit the gas, watch me get lost
|
| Tell that bitch keep on her drawers, yeah
|
| Yeah, 'cause you know I want them jaws, yeah
|
| No, you can’t text or can’t call, no
|
| I got a bitch at the house, yeah
|
| Give that ho straight to my dawg, yeah
|
| Dunk that ho like basketball, uh
|
| You know I’m all 'bout my figures
|
| Young nigga gettin' them digits
|
| Young niggas goin' gorilla
|
| I heard you be talkin' that pillow
|
| Boy you know you not no killer
|
| My chopper eat niggas for dinner
|
| My diamonds is ill, make you shiver
|
| This codeine is eatin' my liver
|
| Uh, duh, I drink mud, yuh, pourin' just because
|
| On my rose I spent a dub, yuh, shinin' like a bug
|
| Buy that shit, don’t give a fuck
|
| Yeah, this hustlin' in my blood
|
| My heart cold, can’t show no love
|
| Yeah, my grandma raised a thug
|
| Yeah, I bought them racks out
|
| Everything I cashed out
|
| Left the lot, I smashed out
|
| Come get your boss and cash out
|
| Get high 'til I pass out
|
| From the back, she pass out
|
| Pull her tracks, she tap out
|
| Big Glock make her spazz out
|
| Step up on the scene
|
| Diamonds bling, these hoes scream
|
| Checkerboard Louie V
|
| I’m so fresh and so clean clean
|
| Stuff them bands in my jeans
|
| Slap them thirties in them things
|
| Pull the trigger, let it sing
|
| Then go smoke a Russian cream |