Lyrics Phone Numbers - Wiz Khalifa, Big Sean, Trae Tha Truth

Phone Numbers

Usually I’ll be smoking weed on the intro but I’m drinking water
This cabin fever
sick
I’m not going to tell you again
Stay the hell away from my woman
Taylor Gang nigga’s think you can do what ever they want
I cop me one, cop me one for my old girl
You think she my newest bitch, she my old girl
Khalifa, a younger nigga who handle his
Hoes get in my car ask what the channel is
Boss shit, look that up my nigga, I handle biz
On fire, like a candle is
Niggas be dressing off the manikin
Mmm, and I get fresh like where them cameras is
Better yet sandwiches, bad bitch Spanish friends
Coulda been the President rather be the man instead, yeah
Now when I get paid my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
Now when I get paid my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
(You can talk shit bitch, I’m worth a million)
I’m talking millions, nigga I’m talking millions
(You can talk shit bitch, I’m worth a million)
I’m talking millions, nigga I’m talking millions
Time is money so I went and bought a Rolex (bought a Rolex)
Time is money so I went and bought a Rolex (bought a Rolex)
(You can talk shit bitch, I’m worth a million)
I’m talking millions, nigga I’m talking millions
(You can talk shit bitch, I’m worth a million)
I’m talking millions, nigga I’m talking millions
I’m in the hood of off something that’s corner surfing
Float, no water, my trunk is waving, I’m polar surfing
Blowing faces, I’m shitting on the diamond infested
Time is money, peep the wrist bitch, my time’s invested
I’m still the king and I’m thugged out
Any block, any club I flood it out
I ain’t one for competition I’mma blow it out
I’m going hard I don’t even plan on going out
I get money probably something you don’t know about
I stunt hard, you would swear that I was showing out
Don’t tell me get 'em, I got 'em and I’mma throw 'em out
And back door on these hoes that I was warning out
While I’m in this machine, convert the top
Tell them that the sky is the limit
With a foreign freak, she got her face in my lap
So deep you would think that she was hiding in it
Shrimp, steak liquor and pastaaa
Real shit boy, these niggas imposters
They deserve an Oscar, Kevin Costner
Oh My Gosher
I got this and that and everything I want like I got a hostage
Counting 7 digits no wonder why the money calling
Got ya bitch panties Niagara falling
Dollars come like I fuck in the bank
I told them I could, they tell me I can’t
They want me to trip when I dunk in the paint
I’m popping champagne and puffin' on dank
Shining hard, boy, these niggas gotta see me
My dick hard, your bitch is easy