Στίχοι

Ayy, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah What? What? What? What? What? What? Them hits don't make no sense Ayy When I wake up, yes, I talk the talk and I walk the walk Look at me, ma, I'm the flyest of them all Hide my belongings in the wall, bad bitches in the hall Double cup of muddy trouble, Humpty Dumpty on the wall Call that boy Plankton 'cause he tryna steal the formula (SpongeBob) Pull up like some diapers, wet some shit like baby formula My dick don't belong to you, this shit is uncompatible And from the looks of it, you not fuckin' fashionable (You dusty) High school, I used to rock the Robin jeans with the Robin wings 20K walk light, lookin' for a scheme Take your ho over yonder, beat up in her spleen My diamonds Bruno Mars dancing at spring fling Worried about my cash, I want the green, Irish Spring This shit is finger lickin', nigga, bon appetit I like my hoes petite with a sprinkle of freak Hold up, ayy, ayy, ayy Lean with it, rock with it Drinkin' soda pop, yeah Head look like a mop, yeah Bitch, I pop like Pop Rocks Yeah, that my white tee Bitch, I'm so icy She wanna one night me Do it like Nike Uh, yeah Water on my neck and wrist, uh Bitch, I'm ballin' just like pass assist, uh, yeah Wanna know who I am, bitch, then come again, uh, yeah Bitch, I feel like 50, like it's many men, yeah Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy Turn the speakers up, listen to the fucking bass And I got the money in the bank, yes, Chase And I'm smoking that weed, it might just be laced And I'll beat back 'til it fuckin' break I wanna go bowling Your mama need growing On my dick, she belonging Her titties fuckin' showing Is it raining? (Is it raining?) Are you playing (Are you playing) Hop on the plane (Hop on the plane)
Writer(s): James William Jr Sturr Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out