Lyrics: Demario White/Terrence Triplett/George Stone III/Marlon Lafayette Brown
Music: Demario White/Terrence Triplett/George Stone III/Marlon Lafayette Brown
Penthouse suite top floor
Prices got cheap we just let 'em go
Woah
Watch my nigga spend a hundred K on a plain watch
Told him Give me ten more days I'ma get me one
Two-hundred occasion
What you do
I gave 'em
I gave
Thumbin' through the payment in the rental car from Avis
Backend
Withdraw on that Wocky I shrivel up like a raisin
Real
My nigga Trip black as hell
But he sell caucasian
Jungle fever
White dope I sell it to my white folks
I ain't racist 'bout that paper I ain't goin' broke
Pint of Hi-Tech red
Mud
I put this shit up on yo' head
I got bad bitches textin' me like Where you at
Walkin' out of St Regis with fifty in my britches
Get the drank dirt cheap when I go cross the bridge
Woah
Count a hundred-fifty bucks out it got me dizzy
Spend it I ****ed off a eight and balled with Izzy
Necklace
Let her wear my chain got my pendant on her titties
Look
Off the yacht to the jet just to see the Grizzlies
Jason said You cuttin' it close you got a show you trippin'
I'm not missin' that cornbread be there in a jiffy
Go
They said that it gotta be in you it can't be on you
But I got it in me and it's on me what you want
Woah
Poker face when I see the plug we talkin' business
Plain Richard Millie so them white folks take me serious
In a meetin' wit' 'em legs crossed hand on my chin
Grin
Tryna negotiate me a label deal for ten
I want in I won't drop the ball off every win
They be like Trip is you sellin' Fent Nah
Five red bitches that's a
Take ya time hold up
Five red bitches that's a fan ball
Two bricks of soft in the loft
Hit it and you winnin' in the kitchen like it's golf
Kitchen like it's golf
Was tryna get it off so I front him what he bought
I don't talk numbers wit' runners shit nigga I'm a boss
And we gon' drop you off talkin' 'bout you ain't tryn' spin
I'm throwed I be thinkin' 'bout a soul when I grin
niggas h*es I had bow's way before it was a trend
Soft a*s nigga
Only rap beef I had died before it ever begin
On my mama
Real street nigga trappin' gettin' high and smokin' cigs
Could turn it back to drop blow it up and make it big