You (feat. Bryson Tiller)

Yeah

Tiller

Word, and

Young Lola, the controlla, come closer

Mad pretty, make me lose composure

Tad tipsy, won't you come over?

Last lap in the city, know I'm unsober

True, know I see you, come over

You know I see you over there

I'm a badass Brooklyn brown skin bitch

And I love a hood **** wit' some toxic dick

Nothin' but some socks, beef, and brocs in it

Have me walkin' all crooked in my Crocs and shit

Bitch, I go Taraji for my baby boy

Ride it like a Kawasaki, that's his favorite toy

I'ma swipe his EBT like an Amex, give it to 'em raw, no draws, no latex

Yeah, I got him butt-naked for me waitin' at home

Bitch, your pussy ain't hittin' if he taking too long

Told him put my name on it, making him moan

The smell of Lola Brooke, that's his favorite cologne

I'm yours for the summer

Wanna drink until we drunk? I'm choosin' you, baby

Things I wanna do to ya, baby

Say he cray still I gotta take a risk on you

Like, why would I lie when I'm tryna put this on you, baby?

Tryna make a choice between his leg or his face

Shit gettin' more intense than Election Day

What I expect today is good neck, hood sex

Stop callin' his phone, bitch, he catchin' up on rest

Fuckin' wit me is a W, fuck 'em at the W

The way you cummin' quick seems to trouble you

I want a roughneck **** that's masculine

Sex drive wild and his ass is immaculate

Put it in my, uh

**** stabbin' it, a shooter that assassin it, tongue doin' magic tricks

Foot on neck, hand on frontal, got 'em bussin' nuts 'fore we leave the Holland tunnel

I'm yours for the summer

Wanna drink until we drunk? I'm choosin' you, baby

Things I wanna do to ya, baby

Say he cray still I gotta take a risk on you (Hey)

Like, why would I lie when I'm tryna put this on you, baby?

Young Lola, the controlla, come closer

Mad pretty, make me lose composure

Tad tipsy, won't you come over?

Last lap in the city, know I'm unsober

True, know I see you come over

You know I see you over there, there