(Feezie Productions)

Fuck that nigga Rylo, he rap horrible
I deleted her number, head was horrible
Nigga punks, sittin' all on the lines, I just pour it up
Got cameras, we see them, they can't see us, this trap boarded up
Don't run no track before that money, I hold you for ransom
I need help, I got a problem fuckin' exotic dancers
From the crack to coke, to the bud to smoke, I get my hands on
She thought I was cookin' for her 'cause I fucked her with my pants on

I gave every young nigga a Glock in my hood
Which one you workin'? Watch who you servin'
And that hand get back and forth with the court like Julius Ervin'
I could've bought a kilo but I bought a chain for thirty
Glock 27, I stuck a dick in it, it was a virgin
I'ma chase that paper 'til I'm tired, nigga had a rest
They wear this cup, he still died, but he had a vest
Hope you proud of me, nobody made it from my projects, yeah
I signed the deal, then I sent it on the private jet
I rock 'Figer, I ain't ever feared a nigga yet
My lil' got bankroll, we don't flex with each other's checks
And these hoes know I'm the GOAT, I'm fresh out the barn
I dropped my addy, she called up bae then she brought me the foreign

Dior, whoa, VLONE, whoa
Model, whoa, she gon' suck dick, whoa
Plug, whoa, draco, whoa
Now he can't, whoa

Fuck that nigga Rylo, he rap horrible
I deleted her number, head was horrible
Nigga punks, sittin' all on the lines, I just pour it up
Got cameras, we see them, they can't see us, this trap boarded up
Don't run no track before that money, I hold you for ransom
I need help, I got a problem fuckin' exotic dancers
From the crack to coke, to the bud to smoke, I get my hands on
She thought I was cookin' for her 'cause I fucked her with my pants on

No knock, just sign me for the meals, I prolly fuck it off
Won't put my BM in the Benz, I heard she fuckin' off
I been out here grindin', Rollie timin', yeah, we wylin'
Baby prayed the lawyer since I made five hunnid thousand
Presi', Presi', Patek, they like, "Doggybone a problem"
I ain't go to college, so he got it out the mud, huh
Seen two mill' in blues, they don't even fuck with Bloods
I want twenty for a show, but still I ask, "How much the club got?"
Can't wait 'til they left bud, a'ight, I'm done playin' games
Won't swish for not a bitch, then hear my son sayin', "Change"
Like we made it, I signed a deal for a couple hun'
I blew that shit in Vegas
If not fine, then I'm with Baby, if not Baby, I'm with Ced'
So many shirts, want twelve a verse or back to sellin' meds

Dior, whoa, VLONE, whoa
Model, whoa, she gon' suck dick, whoa
Plug, whoa, draco, whoa
Now he can't, whoa

Fuck that nigga Rylo, he rap horrible
I deleted her number, head was horrible
Nigga punks, sittin' all on the lines, I just pour it up
Got cameras, we see them, they can't see us, this trap boarded up
Don't run no track before that money, I hold you for ransom
I need help, I got a problem fuckin' exotic dancers
From the crack the code, to the bottom of the smoke, I get my hands on
She thought I was cookin' for her 'cause I fucked her with my pants on

Hunnid bands and Birkin bags, my girl don't need no OnlyFans
I go crazy every shot I get, like this my only chance
I run through a million cash so much, I need another hand
I just hope the play not play with me, we gon' fuck up the plan
I just heard he said he rich as me, I know he wish he was
Damn, now what they kid gon' pull up in? I just keep switchin' up
I had racks before my bud, if they know, they know what's up
Ain't too many niggas in Atlanta sold more bags than us
Rylo went new cat on 'em, Dugg got four hunnid racks on 'em
I just sit, laid back, chill, I could bust they ass, for real
Bitch all in my covers, makin' jokes, like, I be poppin' pills
Boy, you know what's up when it be smoke, someone get popped for real

Dior, whoa, VLONE, whoa
Model, whoa, she gon' suck dick, whoa
Plug, whoa, draco, whoa
Now he can't, whoa

Fuck that nigga Rylo, he rap horrible
I deleted her number, head was horrible
Nigga punks, sittin' all on the lines, I just pour it up
Got cameras, we see them, they can't see us, this trap boarded up
Don't run no track before that money, I hold you for ransom
I need help, I got a problem fuckin' exotic dancers
From the crack the code, to the bottom of the smoke, I get my hands on
She thought I was cookin' for her 'cause I fucked her with my pants on

Bitch
Sum'n light

Copyright: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Writer(s): Dominique Armani IV Jones, Ryan Adams