Pto

Okay I'm not taking calls, you know i'm that nigga
One hand on my balls, one hand on the liquor
Started pretty small, now my paper bigger
Used to call me boy, now they call me mister
Riding down the strip with the top down, ooh
Used to make a little make a lot now, ooh
Can't talk plane taking off now, ooh
Bitch i'm off the clock, i'm the boss now
We enjoy the fruits of our labor
That's just proof there's a savior
Pour tequila in the glass, add the juice for the flavor
Only tropical drinks, nigga fuck what you think
Got my toes in the sand, ain't no socks on my feet
There ain't nothing like stunting on the ones that were judging
On the ones that were doubting, i turned nothing to something
I turned keys into buttons
Turned dreams to discussions
Middle fingers to your boss, and we screaming le' fuck em

Okay paid time off
Paid time off, got paid time off
I got paid time off, paid time off
Paid time off, got paid time off aye
Fuck all your emails
I'm laid out by the seashells, aye
So many females
No need to share all the details, aye

Don't hit my phone, bitch don't hit my phone
Just leave me alone
Let me zone, til i get back home
That's gone be long
Cuz i might extend the trip out
Might just fly ya chick out
Might just spend the next few weeks with my dick out
Its nothing indecent
Its nothing to run up a check for the weekend
A couple of freaks, pouring up on the beach
Smoking up all the weed, how the fuck could i leave it
I wanna keep it
Shit is so wavy, get a lil sea sick
Swiping the visa
Whatever you needing, that's our little secret
Run it up



Credits
Writer(s): Marcus Mccoy
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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