Spicy (feat. Fivio Foreign & A$AP Ferg)
Pricy
Hit-Boy
Boss shit, your Lordship
Niggas talkin' yachts since I'm on shit
I used to run the block, now I'm corporate (corporate)
Hoppin' out, you know it's Son when the doors lift
Whole squad hide the burners (whole squad)
Mets hats in the sky like Bobby Shmurda
They watch me like the chip', courtside at The Rucker
Flow only getting tougher, she beggin' me to cuff her
Brooklyn Sweet Chick, waffles with raspberry butter
Wear a mink at the roller rink middle of the summer
If I can't get it done, I got soldiers with me to cover
Queens get the money, we only stackin' it upwards
G's stay icy 'cause shit get spicy
She on Demon Time, I get her a timepiece
Patek, niggas not lit, not like me
Can't get nothin' by me, my mind is 2090
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money
Fast money, push to start money
Large money, Escobar money
Little advice (little advice), always add spice (uh)
Always get the liquor with the ice (not me)
I don't give a fuck if that's his wife (nah)
I could bag any bitch in these all white Nikes (uh)
That ain't right, if she tell me, no, I'm gettin' tight
Look, every time you saw me I was nice (ayy)
Every time I saw you, you was light (you was)
Uh, every bitch you with look like a dyke (Lil' bitch)
Uh, I mean she might (might), not never be my type, nah
She might never be my type, look
That bitch is trash, I only fuck her for the hype (uh)
I only fuck her for the hype, look (uh)
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money
Fast money, push to start money
Large money, Escobar money
Niggas saying Ferg back, but I been with the shits (yeah)
Might make a grill with Tiffany's on my gentleman shit (right)
My drill niggas out in Brooklyn and they spinnin' and shit (yeah)
Bumpin' Pop out the whip while we sippin' and shit (movie)
Model bitches that's precise, fuck attendants off the flights
Keep the vision through the lights, never blinded by the hype
Keep the Tommy near the belly, sincere 'cause I'm hype
Got a ghetto Naomi Campbell, designer with the Nikes
I'm the one talkin' spice, 12 year old killers
With the guns and the knives, better run for your life
Got a queen in Queens and my ex a Puerto Rican spice
My Harlem bitch doin' time, gettin' caught up with the swipes
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money (uh)
Fast money, push to start money (uh)
Large money, Escobar money (lil' bitch)
Hit-Boy, we got another one (Pricy)
Nastradamus, Fivio (vroom)
A$AP Ferg (yeah)
Hit-Boy
Boss shit, your Lordship
Niggas talkin' yachts since I'm on shit
I used to run the block, now I'm corporate (corporate)
Hoppin' out, you know it's Son when the doors lift
Whole squad hide the burners (whole squad)
Mets hats in the sky like Bobby Shmurda
They watch me like the chip', courtside at The Rucker
Flow only getting tougher, she beggin' me to cuff her
Brooklyn Sweet Chick, waffles with raspberry butter
Wear a mink at the roller rink middle of the summer
If I can't get it done, I got soldiers with me to cover
Queens get the money, we only stackin' it upwards
G's stay icy 'cause shit get spicy
She on Demon Time, I get her a timepiece
Patek, niggas not lit, not like me
Can't get nothin' by me, my mind is 2090
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money
Fast money, push to start money
Large money, Escobar money
Little advice (little advice), always add spice (uh)
Always get the liquor with the ice (not me)
I don't give a fuck if that's his wife (nah)
I could bag any bitch in these all white Nikes (uh)
That ain't right, if she tell me, no, I'm gettin' tight
Look, every time you saw me I was nice (ayy)
Every time I saw you, you was light (you was)
Uh, every bitch you with look like a dyke (Lil' bitch)
Uh, I mean she might (might), not never be my type, nah
She might never be my type, look
That bitch is trash, I only fuck her for the hype (uh)
I only fuck her for the hype, look (uh)
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money
Fast money, push to start money
Large money, Escobar money
Niggas saying Ferg back, but I been with the shits (yeah)
Might make a grill with Tiffany's on my gentleman shit (right)
My drill niggas out in Brooklyn and they spinnin' and shit (yeah)
Bumpin' Pop out the whip while we sippin' and shit (movie)
Model bitches that's precise, fuck attendants off the flights
Keep the vision through the lights, never blinded by the hype
Keep the Tommy near the belly, sincere 'cause I'm hype
Got a ghetto Naomi Campbell, designer with the Nikes
I'm the one talkin' spice, 12 year old killers
With the guns and the knives, better run for your life
Got a queen in Queens and my ex a Puerto Rican spice
My Harlem bitch doin' time, gettin' caught up with the swipes
Qué lo que, everybody pricy
Cost money, beat the charge money (uh)
Fast money, push to start money (uh)
Large money, Escobar money (lil' bitch)
Hit-Boy, we got another one (Pricy)
Nastradamus, Fivio (vroom)
A$AP Ferg (yeah)
Credits
Writer(s): Nasir Jones, Chauncey A. Hollis, Darold Ferguson, Derrick Carrington Gray, Maxie Lee Iii Ryles
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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