Ta Da (feat. Calii Breezze)

Uh, uh

Chill, you can't even come to the crib
I was outside in Atlanta
So she don't even know where I live, woah
Where is your manners?
She eat that dick like a dinner
Don't pop a Xan', hop in the Sprinter
Uh, wait

I was the one in the Balenciagas
You talking down, then I hit up my partner
Dread head really look like a Rasta
He not gon' blick me, he not a shotta
I'm tryna get the bag like my father
Say he get money, ooh, nada
I make that boy disappear, ta da!

Down bad, had to stay with my mother, yeah
I was down bad undercover, uh
And don't try to touch, no
That choppa, it bust
Yeah, that choppa, it bust you
I'm number one and he two
Ayy, tell me to do it

Um, I can't even do it
I know my bitch thicker than you
Um, he can't even prove it
Uh, I got that juice
Um, he can't even do it
Man, I'm smoking this boof

Chill, you can't even come to the crib
I was outside in Atlanta
So she don't even know where I live, woah
Where is your manners?
She eat that dick like a dinner
Don't pop a Xan', hop in the Sprinter
Uh, wait

I was the one in the Balenciagas
You talking down, then I hit up my partner
Dread head really look like a Rasta
He not gon' blick me, he not a shotta
I'm tryna get the bag like my father
Say he get money, ooh, nada
I make that boy disappear, ta da!

I keep a stick like Harry Potter
I fuck yo' bitch, I don't even call her
I put them racks all in my collar
That bitch is a gnat, her head like a scholar
Smoking green just like olive
I follow the money just like a stalker

High off a tree like koala
High off me like a flosser
High off the lean like a cougher
He see the beam, then we lost him
See the drip, yeah, it cost him
Yeah, it cost him

Ayy, .30 on my hip
He ain't even know, 'cause he ain't hip
No umbrella catch this drip

Chill, you can't even come to the crib
I was outside in Atlanta
So she don't even know where I live, woah
Where is your manners?
She eat that dick like a dinner
Don't pop a Xan', hop in the Sprinter
Uh, wait

I was the one in the Balenciagas
You talking down, then I hit up my partner
Dread head really look like a Rasta
He not gon' blick me, he not a shotta
I'm tryna get the bag like my father
Say he get money, ooh, nada
I make that boy disappear, ta da!

(Yung Brando, bitch)



Credits
Writer(s): Caleb Gunter
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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