| Gucci tee on, get my Gucci freak on
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| E’rything I wear got a Gucci emblem
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| I’m so Gucci gone say I’m in a Gucci zone
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| (I'm petty) Got my Louie V hat
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| with my Louie backpack with the stacks in that
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| Where the Louie at? |
| So you could pour another shot
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| Cause, e’rything I rock Louie V to the socks
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| Who do it hotter in Prada?
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| I ain’t from N.Y., do it (M-Y Way), so Sinatra
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| You know my not proper for the Oscars
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| But I opt out for the Oxfords in the Oxford
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| … Ha ha, that hurts
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| Some’n by this oar got 'em tippin they fedoras
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| Got the ladies bein whores cause we’re ballin out stores
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| I coordinate on e’rything I wore
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| So ladies know him now say, «That was him before»
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| Fresh as the core in my Christian Diors
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| Got me smellin like Chanel
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| Well, that’s my female, shorty gets that mail
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| In them transparent 90-millimeter heels
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| In them Red Bottoms showin off them Christian Lou-B's
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| Heels… that’s real
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| E-e-e'rything 'bout her scream Dolce &Gabanna
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| with the bowlin ball bag showin out at Caribana
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| Lil' mama, she a stunner
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| Tweed dress on, no panties up under
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| Catch her on Queens Street ballin at the boutiques, holla
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| BME, Black Market Entertainment
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| Obie Trice (Obie Trice, Obie Trice)
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| New shit… so bent
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| Guess the man lucky, she ain’t glam luxury
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| We as a couple get (Fresher) than Douglas E.
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| Double up on my duds where the logos be
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| So Polo duplicate on me, guess that’s why they hate Obie
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| They can see
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| I’m petty |