That's OK

**** feel me from Miami to Chicago

London to Morocco

**** claim they rich, but I'm brokest **** I know

I just play the lotto

Gangstas wanna ride, though, with they guns out tryna plot like

Blat, blat, blat, blat

Fuck your problems, bitch, I'm plottin' like a psycho

Bitches call me boppo

I like all my pussy with some good head on the side, though

Mercy, mercy on me, with no Murciélago

Bitches blow me like a trombone

I got shawties on the side, though, that's OK (That's OK)

I get hoes, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

Bitch, I'm broke, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)

**** feel me 'cause my team is so colossal

London to Morocco

Soon as I get rich, I'm off to Mexico for tacos

She just want some combo, but I ain't got no time, though

I just wanna grab that gun, and blat, blat, blat, blat

Blow my mind out

Bitch could trip, and that's OK

She ain't shit, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

Oh, bitch, I'm different, that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)

They say he stuntin' hard for a **** with no job, yeah

Where he get that car, get that necklace, get them broads, yeah?

He think he a star, sign them posters up in movie shows

And late nights at the studios

And fuckin' all the groupie hoes (Groupie hoes)

Drinkin' all the Henny, gettin' faded, huh

I don't drink no vodka, but Moscato that's her favorite, huh

Two Murciélagos in my driveway with the baddest chicks

They callin' me they daddy, dip, and then I woke mad as shit

Hopped up out the bedroom, turn my motherfuckin' swag on

Supercallaniggaristicesexpeallamagnum

Double cups, I'm twisted, think I'm trippin', bitch, and that's OK

Pray for me, the bastard case

Could someone go get Pastor Mace?

They say he wild for a **** with no burner, yeah?

Man, he pretty down for someone we never heard of, yeah?

Then along came Joyner, his supporters don't get heard, and, yeah

I usually don't get turnt up, yeah, but this is what they want

**** feel me from Miami to Chicago

London to Morocco

**** claim they rich, but I'm brokest **** I know

I just play the lotto

Gangstas wanna ride, though, with they guns out tryna plot like

Blat, blat, blat, blat

Fuck your problems, bitch, I'm plottin' like a psycho

Bitches call me boppo

I like all my pussy with some good head on the side, though

Mercy, mercy on me, with no Murciélago

Bitches blow me like a trombone

I got shawties on the side, though, that's OK (That's OK)

I get hoes, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

Bitch, I'm broke, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)

**** feel me 'cause my team is so colossal

London to Morocco

Soon as I get rich, I'm off to Mexico for tacos

She just want some combo, but I ain't got no time, though

I just wanna grab that gun, and blat, blat, blat, blat

Blat, blat, blat, blat

Blow my mind out

Bitch could trip, and that's OK

She ain't shit, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

Oh, bitch, I'm different, that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)

They say he pretty fly for a **** that stay single, eh?

All my bitches whack ,now I'm back on Christian Mingle, eh

Puffin' on them cancer sticks, I know that turn you off and shit

But all I do is stress, and I can't get the devil off of me (Off-off of me)

Stompin' out the hater with no Timbs on

All my Insta crushes wanna keep me in the friend zone

Now it's back to hustlin', got no cable or no water

So I'm sellin' all the cars I stole

I might just sell some bars I wrote

I'm from outer space, different species of reptilian

Supercallaniggaristicesexpeallalien

Flyin' through the atmosphere, cruisin' on you (That's OK)

Pour some liquor back and pray for all the soldiers passed away

They say he made it for a **** that ain't stoppin', yeah?

Made it out the hood, ended right back in the projects, yeah?

Wish a **** would, try to get me, then I'm plottin', yeah

My chain say it's dead silence, yeah

With flawless stones and diamonds, yeah

**** feel me from Miami to Chicago

London to Morocco

**** claim they rich, but I'm brokest **** I know

I just play the lotto

Gangstas wanna ride, though, with they guns out tryna plot like

Blat, blat, blat, blat

Fuck your problems, bitch, I'm plottin' like a psycho

Bitches call me boppo

I like all my pussy with some good head on the side, though

Mercy, mercy on me, with no Murciélago

Bitches blow me like a trombone

I got shawties on the side, though, that's OK (That's OK)

I get hoes, and that's OK (that's OK, that's OK)

Bitch, I'm broke, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)

**** feel me 'cause my team is so colossal

London to Morocco

Soon as I get rich, I'm off to Mexico for tacos

She just want some combo, but I ain't got no time, though

I just wanna grab that gun, and blat, blat, blat, blat

Blow my mind out

Bitch could trip, and that's OK

She ain't shit, and that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

Oh, bitch, I'm different, that's OK (That's OK, that's OK)

(That shit's, that shit's, that's OK, that's OK)

(That's OK, that shit's, that shit's)