| Fuckin' these bitches, they came out of Milano
|
| She want me to come, but ain’t got all the time, no
|
| The other day I was broke, came back in designer
|
| Lil' mama left me alone, came back and the time’s up
|
| Ayy, singin' to the bank, my money staccato
|
| I ain’t on no bullshit, this ain’t no Chicago
|
| I went from jettin' from stores, to jet in the sky though
|
| My nigga, the world yours, whatever’s inside though
|
| Two twenties on my head, just made it to six-speed
|
| Used to have love for you bitches, now I’m like, «Bitch, please»
|
| Now and then I gotta say it like my nigga Weeknd
|
| Fuck needin' a bitch, I’m what a bitch need
|
| Two hunnid thirty thousand on the Bentley
|
| So even when it’s dirty, know my shit clean
|
| Got a thick bih', her name’s Christina
|
| Out Miami with the whip, hop out of Prestige, yeah
|
| Ayy, shawty know I been on some boss shit, ayy
|
| She fuckin' with me 'cause I’m a vibe, my nigga
|
| I spent twenty-five all on my side bitch
|
| And if I get caught, I’ma deny it
|
| I’ma deny it, I’m a fuckin' rider
|
| Got a bad bitch for the nigga, pussy fire
|
| She strip down like Malia or Maya
|
| And I been on the side tryna buy her some time off
|
| Ayy, I’m hotter than Folgers
|
| Money so thick, can’t fold it, I told you
|
| Came back, put my baby mama in a Rover
|
| Card got no limit, bitch, I’m a soldier, ugh
|
| Fuckin' these bitches, they came out of Milano
|
| She want me to come, but ain’t got all the time, no
|
| The other day I was broke, came back in designer
|
| Lil' mama left me alone, came back and the time’s up
|
| Ayy, singin' to the bank, my money staccato
|
| I ain’t on no bullshit, this ain’t no Chicago
|
| I went from jettin' from stores, to jet in the sky though
|
| My nigga, the world yours, whatever’s inside though
|
| Honey, am I wrong for thinkin' every woman wanna fuck me?
|
| And if she don’t, she probably gay, that’s what it must be
|
| None of my biddies put no niggas above me
|
| I done pulled up Southside, all my bitches side-side of me
|
| Couldn’t be a fake nigga if I tried to be
|
| Ayy, Louis Vuitton shorts, Dior, four-course
|
| Let a goofy nigga fuck and we can’t fuck no more
|
| I’m a big money nigga on a jet
|
| Girl, give me that pussy, let me make it wet for ya
|
| I told you can get the world, baby, if you rep the set
|
| She was out before the check
|
| Alphabet, I’m a G, fuck her ex, no sweat
|
| To the left, to the left, to the left
|
| Everything you fuckin' own is in a box to the left
|
| Ayy, I’m on the yachty, I got them thots to the left
|
| She a bop, I’ma flex, got rocks for my neck, yeah
|
| Fuckin' these bitches, they came out of Milano
|
| She want me to come, but ain’t got all the time, no
|
| The other day I was broke, came back in designer
|
| Lil' mama left me alone, came back and the time’s up
|
| Ayy, singin' to the bank, my money staccato
|
| I ain’t on no bullshit, this ain’t no Chicago
|
| I went from jettin' from stores, to jet in the sky though
|
| My nigga, the world yours, whatever’s inside though |