| Mane, hold up, tell me how you really feel
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| Grippin' on the wood grain in the Coupe de Ville
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| Drippin' stains, swervin' lanes, actin' bad, grabbin' cash
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| In the Frenchies, bad, representin' south of the H-Town
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| Bout to ball at the mall, call it Galleria
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| Hatin' niggas from a distance, call it like I see it
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| «Yes, ma’am» and «No, ma’am», they always glad to meet ya
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| Stuntin' up in Pappadeaux’s, they always glad to treat ya
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| Sexy papi though, starts down with that shiny grill
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| Lookin' out of his tinted window, I know it’s something like (What's the deal?)
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| So throwed, ridin' slow, my clique jazzy, yo' clique hoes, ew! |
| Wouldn’t touch
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| 'em with a 50-foot pole, even Pepé Le Pew said no
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| I’m a playa, I don’t let nobody take my shine
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| I get mine, you could feel me like my around
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| We gettin' down all the way till the sun come up
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| Sippin' all the purple all out the white cup
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| How ya like me now cause I’m real?
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| How ya like me? |
| How ya like me now cause I’m real?
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| How ya like me? |
| How ya like me now cause I’m real?
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| Touch down, piece and chain, fool, shiny grill
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| Huh, you know I love it, mane
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| Uh, you know I love it, mane
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| Yeah, love it, mane
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| These fickle, fickle niggas holdin' out for a pretty penny
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| You swallowin' the truth and now you wizzin' like it’s Henny
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| I’m «run, Forest, run"-ing and my instincts be Jenny
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| Jenny Craigin' on them boys, I cut the fat and keep the skinny
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| Here’s a skinny on them motherfuckers that get caught up
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| Yeah, you tryna be the man and ya pushin' ya luck
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| And you frontin' like we homies then you call me like I owe thee
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| What about the shit you owe me like the time I spent with yo' ass for free?
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| You really think I’d waste my time with you?
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| Building a business relationship if the shit gon' sink?
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| Nigga, that’s how you really feel? |
| Nigga, that’s how you think?
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| Think again next time ya come steppin' to me
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| Cause I wasn’t put on this earth to sing back up for you
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| Especially if you gon' be selfish and not come through
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| And I told yo' ho ass partner «Go fuck off» too
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| So we know why I don’t fuck around with you
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| And I hope it burns in yo' stomach cause Lizzo on the rise
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| And I won’t respond to yo' e-mails like «Duh», surprise
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| And I don’t hold grudges but, boy, ya cut off
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| And, I mean, you got a little bit of talent but that’s not enough
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| Awwww maannn |