Pups (feat. A$AP Rocky)

Arf, arf, arf Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (Right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Now where my dawgs at? (Frankie Mothafuckin' P) I said get at me I'm talkin' to you niggas with that rap beef Get at me Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne Get at me Never tacky, jeans made by Acne Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis It's about to get uglier than Balenciagas Felt bad I never finished college Now we fuckin' cuties with booties in Dapper Dan silk pajamas Livin' the dream, open up your eyelids Me and Flacko on a island with a few bad bitches How my cousin make a mil' off a du-rag business? All my dawgs with the shit, you with a few cat litters All the yellow with the black like the Wu back (Su) Back when I was rentin' beds, I was still catchin' head If I was bussin' dishes, I'd be still fuckin' bitches Boof pack, gift wrapped just like Christmas Gone for a minute, now I'm back, did you miss me? Had the whole Harlem World wearin' Under Armours Under the armors, I'm a pretty mothafuckin' comma Gorgeous comma, pretty much about to fuck your mama Kinda runnin' late for this meetin' with Obama I ain't mean it to rhyme, but call me when your mind right Meet me with your romper, CC me when the vibe right More money, more problem, more chopper, more drama And I got these hoes, feelin' like Mo Bamba Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Who gon' do what? My dawgs gon' tool up Nigga, look out, 'cause look down like one, two, fucked And we don't give two fucks Where I'm from, you lunch, you food Niggas called your bluff Pockets Warren Buffett, security guard too buff I like my songs screwed up I own a gold toothbrush, I get my gold tooth buffed I'ma stomp a nigga out in Timberland nubuck Young Buck, too buck, Benz truck, new truck Big horns, tuba, more good than Cuba They tried to hit us like Huey with the armpits up But we swerved through the bullets, get your targets up Hood Pope up in this bitch, in Trap Lord we trust Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg) I said get at me I'm talkin' to you niggas with that rap beef Get at me Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne Get at me Never tacky, jeans made by Acne Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis