Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah), yeah, ayy
I copped me a house with a gate
I get rich, I know these niggas hate
I was starvin', they ate in my face
Now you know how your medicine tastes
This a marathon, this not a race
I'm just tryin' to find my pace
I get rich without tryin' every day
I get money, I count up some ways
And if I'm not dead, I'm gettin' to that bread
I call up your bitch, I just want some head
I just want that top, I don't want no sex
You know I got guap, I don't need to flex
My Porsche is droptop, I don't need the 'Vette
Yeah, push-start, ain't no keys to that, yeah
Talkin' down and we shoot at his head
Tried to run and we shot off his legs
Play with your bitch pussy, don't play with my bread
These niggas play gangster, but really be scared
You just talkin', you soft, you really like Ted
I get high and nod off, I'm off of these meds
I get topped in my pit, you ain't got no bed
Boy, you don't pay no rent, you don't pay for shed
Got Givenchy my shirt and my toes and my legs
Shawty riding my dick like it came with some pegs, yeah
I just been pouring this red, yeah
And it's Wock'
Shawty suck me up 'til her jaws lock
Told her, "Baby, keep going, don't stop"
Yeah, that's just how I roll and I rock
Yeah, I'm rolling off X 'til I drop
Fuck that bulletproof vest, you get shot in your top
Swear these niggas be thinking they cool, and they not
These niggas be lame, these niggas be hot
Think it's a game, boy, you could get shot
I got good aim, don't need a red dot
Try me? Ain't no way, he thought I forgot
I was fucking your bitch, she dropped me the dot
She sent the location, yeah, she sent the pin
You went on vacation, my boys, they went in
We took everything, left a note that said, "Ken Carson"
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah)
Yeah, yeah (Ayy, yeah), yeah, ayy
I copped me a house with a gate
I get rich, I know these niggas hate
I was starvin', they ate in my face
Now you know how your medicine tastes
This a marathon, this not a race
I'm just tryin' to find my pace
I get rich without tryin' every day
I get money, I count up some ways
And if I'm not dead, I'm gettin' to that bread
I call up your bitch, I just want some head
I just want that top, I don't want no sex
You know I got guap, I don't need to flex
My Porsche is droptop, I don't need the 'Vette
Yeah, push-start, ain't no keys to that, yeah
Talkin' down and we shoot at his head
Tried to run and we shot off his legs
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
