Lyrics:
They say I'm lyrical not talkin lemonade,
Bitches get famous by hittin the renegade,
Im blowing up like a mufuckin hand grenade,
I got more paper
C-O-O-L
I might dine in San Francisco
Dance all night in Rome
I go any freakin' place I want to
And my Lear jet brings me home
I got ladies by
But I'm hot from Shade Room
It's all gone, we pay soon
Hop out Bape with K's too
Don't let that money change you
Ayy, don't let that money change you
I
Blood runnin' hot, night chills (there's power in we)
So long and lost, are you missin' me? (You gettin' money or lookin' for me huh? Huh?)
Is it too
Call me Efrem Zimbalist
Get me Bobby Kennedy
Then call Dave Ben-Gurion, too
Then tell Carol Baker I'm home now
Tell her Mastroianni sends love
go for the ice
Plus you wear the shoes well, the suits flows nice
I don't like the notes too well, let's be more precise
Meet me by the VIP let's
The Angels are too old to drink
and the Legionnaires are in homes There are no painted pastel tones here
Friday evening, 10 o'clock,
where
fire flame, burning homes
Too much gas, 4 this car to cash
No Steve Nash, I'm Chef Curry
Mixed wit a little bit of Mac, Furly
So much heat, like Goku ki
murked
Pen got the paper burnt
I ain't never letting go
This booth's my home
I'm an animal
I'll break your dome
I'm too appealing Adderall
I don't wait,
Hold up!
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Somebody done told you you wrong
Thought it was just gon and gon' end off like that there huh?
Hot, too Hot
Too Hot
it)
Trap hard or go home, nigga had to use his shoebox for a bank
Fiend on his way to the scrap yard, he just stole another hot water tank
Where we
sandal shoes
And then the moans of mean gay youths
And hot as hell bored cleaning crews
Shower go home at 9 feel used drip drip
Avoid the eyes on Tube
from the S.W.A.T home of that H niggas ain’t grow how I grow
And I’m smokin deadly and it’s hittin hard niggas can’t smoke how I smoke
And niggas can’t
Yeah
Always surrounded by hot hoes
Instagram models that strike a pose
And they still look good in high heels
And they blow smoke, they hot as hell
go for the ice
Plus you wear the shoes well, the suits flows nice
I don't like the notes too well, let's be more precise
Meet me by the VIP let's
on
The homie Great John on the beat, by the way
Don't Come Outside, Volume 3 out now
(Great John on the beat, by the way)
I'ma fan Heavenly Father but
over your bitch
Coming over your shit
Got my feet up on you sofas, man
I mean a hostess for my open hand
You coming home to dishes and empty soda
enough, if I offend you
Uh, I wrote this song when Dave drove home
And caught that flat, in the mean T Flats
And it made me think, if we could blink
Christmas family gone
PJ flown
I thought you knew, never leave your boy, YE
in Cody home alone, don't you know
Boobies are my booby trap
Boobies are my booby
Oh Lord can you bun out the bad vibes
Certain people that I'm round too bad mind
Oh Lord can you bun out the bad vibes
Good energy, no I'm not
on the lean just to skid by
I don't wanna sent out the hold up word
Feel me?
Too tired hold up word
Too tired hold up word
Too tired hold up word
Too tired for
may be slow
We still gonna blow like the horn played by Horatio
The stakes is three feet high and risin' like De La Soul
So I got Wonder Why, my man
I'll practice all night long
I've packed my bags, i've traveled too far
To ever go back home"
There once was a boy by the name of davey rockit
For the Franklin’s
Over night success I’m
In the making
Next generation
Gone know vito by his chromosomes
Macaulay Culkin home alone but I can
Hold
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