1 Scale (feat. G Herbo)

Let the band play

Yeah
All I need is one scale, a couple bales, came in this shit by myself
Dolph, why you fuck his girl? Uh, shit, 'cause I'm a player
Quarterback, no NFL, drippy in Chanel (Drippy)
Playin' hide and go seek in the mansion with my lil' girl (Aria)
Elevator was too crowded, so I took the stairs
The whole industry was hatin', so now I give 'em hell
Business man, I invest a whole million in the mail
Yeah (yeah), yeah (yeah), yeah (yeah), yeah

I-I-I treat bitches like some shoes, I cop 'em by the pairs
She like when I grab her neck and pull her by her hair
In my city, I'm more important than the fuckin' mayor
Ten years straight, I set the prices on the kush, I swear

I got your bitch lookin' for Flippa (where he at?)
I let her ride like a bicycle
I pulled out and bust on her dimples
Quarter milli' for this Richard
I had to run up them digits (run it up)
Niggas know that I'm the sickest (for real)
Bitches know that I'm the littest
Whip my dick out and piss on your feelings

I heard that lil' nigga from Memphis
I heard he used to trap in Fendi
I heard he went to jail in a Bentley
Straps with me in New York City
Lil' black nigga with all this fuckin' paper on me, man
What the fuck they mean, man?
I can't go out like that, huh, hold up

Bangin' L's, swangin' scales (what?)
Shakin', got residue in my nails (what?)
Started gettin' real money, we bustin' bales
Everybody on the floor know the smell, uh
Dropped out of high school
Had to start bringin' my Glock, couldn't show and tell, uh
Big bro got life in the feds
Can't talk on the phone, but he know his will

Walked out the trap with a big ol' bag
'Til I pop in the house, I was on the sale
We was sinnin' on Sunday, that bitch in my hand
But I'm sinnin' in my head, know I'm gon' prevail, uh
If I call her house phone
Tell her bring that bitch out cocked, then my mama will
I was eighteen, my OG seen me hop out the Benz or a Bonneville

I bought a mansion
Pop in that bitch fresh off a shootout, I'm hot as hell
Shh, you gon' do some time, niggas probably tell
Fuck it, this lifestyle, know I probably will
I'm in New York with my nigga Dolph
He rockin' wop, but his neck on Gabbana still
I'm rockin' Christian Dior with a bag full of blues
All black but it's Prada still (swerve)

I'm in the 'Raq, Benihana, don't eat at Hamada
See opp, he get probably killed
Told lil' bro come out with me in Bally
Get out the 'Raq, he might come near, catch a body still
I'll pull up on your home in a Lam' smokin' out a sack
Arch her back, disappear, artifact
I ain't comin' with shit but my pipe and a box of mags
Twenty on me, that's my starter pack

Gettin' too much money, we ain't tryna make arch-rivals
You know we spark ride
I was outside and that's the reason we won battles
Nigga, we weren't part-time

Got a youngin, he only send straight at you
You ain't never heard that snake rap?
On a nigga head, then we just can't catch you
Spin twice, mad as fuck, we went straight past you
Ever tried to kill a nigga just 'cause you had to?
Leanin' up in the clubhouse like Rascal
Everybody rich as fuck, ain't nothin' past due
I could go grab a M from my mama pad too

Let me see what you gon' do, we could team-tag two
Oh, you ain't with the shit, have somebody blast you
Kel-Tec on my lap, if God bless you, I tag you
Have you fillin' the bag with your fast food (pussy)