I got ten black cars, at the venue
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
A hustler going corporate (For real)
Preparation prevent poor performance
Pray my karma, it don't come back on my daughters
Ho say she lit up from them cribs, just bring some water
Labels sending deals, but I keep turning down they offers
It ain't bout the money; can't put that in my coffin
I got the clerk confused, I'm buying cups, no coffee
I'm the chosen one, frozen up
I did Hutch and Golden Sun
Got my coins up, like Temple Run
Must not know 'bout Yode run
Must not know 'bout Randy's son
Wavy boy, the one who ran it up
Ain't signing shit, 'til they put my family up (For real)
I won't crack a smile until I'm puttin' Grammy's up
You just touched your first hunnid? That's goin' bad to us
You a friend of me, or enemy?
Don't waste your time try adding me
Want these kicks, gotta wait a week
Custom Goyard baggage me
Sorry, but I'm fuckin' fans, bad bitches keep taggin' me
Old niggas, they're sending threats to me 'cause they ain't next to me
Bitch niggas, they think I owe them something but ain't invest in me
They keep on talking twenty K, decline respectfully
Call my phone back-to-back, them Bamas got a check for me
You can tell I never had shit, I'm driving recklessly
I got ten black cars, at the venue
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
From in these streets, to industry
Can't let codeine finish me
Don't let old friends that I cut off tell you that we're enemies
All these hoes backstage tryna fuck, must think it's ten of me
Diamonds flashing, boxes gettin' wrapped up; I'm a Christmas tree
Rule number one, It ain't no postin', and ain't no kissin' me
Rule number two, don't tell my business, that's gon' get you cut
Gotta watch my back, I sent the driver just to pick her up
Y'all know I'm a tipper, paid a thousand, just to get the cut
I just damn near set the club on fire, bottles lit it up
This shit ain't for you, if you fall off and you can't get back up (Yeah)
Lately, I ain't gotta say too much, to get your bitch to fuck
Brodie I got flavors, for occasions, 'Face, we kitted up (Yeah)
Thirty-somethin' racks later, OD camp done did it up
Money low? Then get it up
Need a load? Come get with us
Hoes choose to swap it with my brodie, that ain't shit to us
I'm in London, say she like my accent, got the sprinter stuck
Eating beans, keepin' lean with me
Say she never seen fifty
My rich homeboy say how much to bring with him
I love that bitch, man, I can't lie, but never seen with her
Got my jeans stuffed, this shit too much
Gon' bust the seams in it
I got ten black cars, at the venue
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
I don't rap politic, tell me what you into
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