Flame On

Cordae, Aitch

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Aitch

Aitch is a British rapper and songwriter. He gained popularity with his catchy wordplay and energetic flows. His music often includes elements of grime and rap, and he has collaborated with several notable artists in the UK music scene. more »


3:15
#1

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Yeah, hit the booth, I turn flame on (yeah)
Hundred on me, no chain on (woo)
Shawty likes what I rap 'bout
I still sing to her like Trey Songz (ah, ah)
Got the track, she want Aitch on
F*ck these rappers, it's game on
At this point, they all know what's good
I ain't gotta say where I came from (let's go)
Ain't nothin' to pull up and flex
F*ck it, I'm stuck at your necks
Man get the pussy and start buyin' drip for the gyal
But won't get their mum an address (yeah)
Brothers are bummy, I know that they been watchin' the kid
Now, they wanna come play with the best
Run up this money, when I get stopped from the pigs
Only time that I'm takin' a rest

Yeah, uh
After I f*ck on this top model bitch for a hour
The only time I'm takin' a rest
How many millions a nigga gon' make in a year
Is the only time makin' a guess
I don't give a shit if these motherfuckers hate on a nigga
You know that they hate on the best
Got my advance and I went straight to Goldman Sachs
And they told me they can invest
Shout out to my dentist
Got brothers that's doin' life sentence
Society call 'em a menace
So, I flew out to Manny, a nine-hour flight off a Xanny
And Aitch brought me straight to the trenches
I spoil my daughter before she can even start callin'
Her diaper bag draped in Givenchy
Know music my callin'
My whole life I'm gon' be ballin'
This shit is not on me, it's in me

We get them racks fresh off a sack
No Secret Service, we dressed in all-black
High-level shit where I might get a tat'
And they free Little Sim, bet, you know he up next
Fresh off a jet, hold up the set
'Cause bitch, you don't know me, so, show me respect
More time, he see me, I'm blowin' a check
If you wearin' a vest, I'ma go for the head (yeah)

Crazy girl, she my favourite girl, that's my baby girl
It's Aitch, your girl
Mr. Take Your Girl, dick might make your world
Backshots on backshots, then turn around and come face me, girl
Backshots on backshots, then, then bust a nut and I'm out (woo)
Take her phone 'fore I take her home
How can she f*ck me for clout?
Maybach or your bae's back? Either way, I'm makin' them bounce
Babygyal with that K cat, you know I'm tryna gain me some pounds
Got the pussy on playback, I like the way that it sounds
Just got a coupe and a Jeep, I'm tired of usin' my feet
Get in the back, bill a spliff and I'm lightin' it up
Same thing I do on a beat
Pussy, don't push me, it's gonna get bumpy
I been on the Henny, I'm drinkin' it neat
Feelin' all comfy, I been gettin' the money
I'm thinkin' 'bout dough, you been thinkin' 'bout me
Stack up this paper, I make it and save it for later
I'm takin' it straight to the bank
It could be Canada, Paris, LA, or Dubai
All the ladies go straight for the mank
Know what I'm doin', I ain't tryna take no advice
I need millis to take an advance
Bitch, I'm a rapper, I go make a slapper
I'm not on the internet makin' a dance

Yeah, ayy, go for the head, we aimin' to kill
You worship these rappers who ain't even real
I got some moves to make
You think I was Lizzo the way I pursue the cake
And you got a rude awakenin'
If you was hatin', my niggas is cool but patient
The tool's adjacent
The chopper, it hit his whole body and have his ass Uzi shakin'
The streets was dry
But, f*ck it, we wet the whole block up, this Draco a lubrication
The crib is new and gated
The cars is foreign, the lifestyle is too outrageous
So I'm chasin' that sack like this shit a new formation
My nigga got off of probation
F*ck the officers apart of the cases
F*ck twelve but I copped a Mercedes
Just landed in Manchester
Middle finger to the opps, not a hand gesture
So many whips, that shit upset my ancestors
But, we ball like Van Exel
In the tenth grade, I thought that we made it
When mama had moved us to Lancaster
But, what I get off a show might be reparations
Lil' nigga, and extra

We get them racks fresh off a sack
No Secret Service, we dressed in all-black
High-level shit where I might get a tat'
And they free Little Sim, bet, you know he up next
Fresh off a jet, hold up the set
'Cause bitch, you don't know me, so, show me respect
More time, he see me, I'm blowin' a check
If you wearin' a vest, I'ma go for the head

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Written by: Harrison Armstrong, Jacob Jones, Taras Slusarenko, Cordae Dunston

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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    "Flame On Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Apr. 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/13365887/Aitch/Flame+On>.

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