| Why the fuck you wouldn't let me know before I had to think about it? |
| Huh |
| Naw, boy |
|
| If it's a problem, huh |
| Why the fuck you wouldn't let me know before I had to think about it? |
| Huh, like just be honest, huh |
| If it ain't 'bout my people or them bucks, then I won't even up my choppper |
| Huh, bitch, I'm Casada |
| Mmm, hmm |
| Keep this bitch slappin' |
| Ayy |
|
| And don't kick it with no bitch if she don't suck no dick |
| Huh, huh, sss |
| Ain't talkin' to no random nigga, it ain't 'bout no business |
| Huh, I want the munion |
| Jogging pants seven hundred, like thirty thousand in 'em |
| Less off an accident, I fucked around and trapped in this |
| Put a brick right up in that pot, it did a backwards flip |
| Pressed a nigga like where my money at? I ain't have to ask again |
| Huh, huh, tuh, windows five percent |
| Bag camp tinted, ayy, huh, 'fore I ride with blicks |
| Yellowskin ho, huh, huh, with a brown bitch |
| Huh, brand-new 'fit, all cold out of town with it |
| Lil' Blood got indictment with it, I'm the hound with it |
| Touched down, had this white bitch with him, she was dyin' with it |
| Ayy, peeped the smoke was clear, know them clouds different |
| Ayy, I had thanked God 'cause that bag was seventy thousand |
| Got it from my people, it was free |
| All the fuck I had to do was get it to the V |
| Huh, all the fuck you had to do was not talk to police |
| Huh, all a bitch need to do is drop it to her knees |
| Might respect your mama, huh, but then I might not |
| I'm still the same nigga with the fame, dog, the high top |
| Huh, baby, huh, let me pull up light, I'm your night owl |
| Tears runnin' down the side of your face like they eyedrops |
| Naw, bitch, bool side, and now you cyclops |
| Ayy, I still need above Armani with the sixes |
| Huh, four fifteen diamonds in the trunk got me trippin', huh |
| Tweeters in the front like I'm drunk, ain't been sippin' |
| Hellcat 9 with the sign, good blicky |
| See that camel toe on a jukey ho, I'm gon' stick it, huh |
| Left wrist cost a nigga kit, right wrist a couple bricks |
| With no light, this shit hit, reason why she let me hit |
| Bitch, I'm light, turn me up |
| Everywhere I go, I never see a nigga that be broke |
| How would I even? Niggas don't know the first thing 'bout gettin' pros |
| How we be tweakin'? Stay sold a nigga head and dogged the road, nigga, hugh |
| Audemars Piguet, extra rose |
| Sixty-somethin', seventy-gram Cuban for the hoes |
| Uh, thirty gram for the rocks in my earlobes |
| Huh, twenty-five racks apiece for my grill mode |
| Tell me, boy, flawless diamonds on it, done right coast |
| Huh, downtown, get my dick ate up by the white ho |
| Fuck around and do too much spin out and hit the light pole |
| TRX, got that bitch in lost mode on ice out, ugh |
|
| If it's a problem, huh |
| Why the fuck you wouldn't let me know before I had to think about it? |
| Huh, like just be honest |
| Huh, if it ain't 'bout my people or them bucks, then I won't even up my chopper |
| Huh, bitch, I'm Casada |
| Mmm, hmm |
| Keep this bitch slappin' |
| Ayy |
|