Stella McCartney (feat. Future) [Bonus Track]

I'm tryna get you high
I'm tryna get you fly (Wheezy outta here)
I'm tryna get you high, girl (codeine, codeine)
I'm tryna get you fly (codeine, codeine)
I'm tryna get you fly (codeine, codeine)
I'm tryna get you fly, girl (codeine, codeine)
(Codeine, codeine)

Stella McCartney, I'm drippin' on swag, and I swear it's a whole 'nother wave
Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
Secured the bag, it was Goyard
Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
Spent a lil' quarter, went push-start
Checked my persona, that's a new Ferrari
Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
All I said was facts, yeah
Fresh Dior off the runway, bought a gun store on a Sunday
Hit the switch on a Glock .40, my young niggas want bodies
I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah

I put it on, when I put it on, I'm stackin' it high, I'm stackin' up neat, yeah
Drinkin' on muddy, I came in the Rolls buggy with Chanel on my feet, yeah
You never seen what I seen, yeah
I got codeine, yeah, on me, yeah
Givin' you somethin' to see if you never seen it when it's elite, yeah
Bales like pillows for ghost, yeah
Chanaynay pillows, my room, yeah
You couldn't ruin my swag, I do it with no effort, you know I'ma pop, yeah
Soon as I spill it, they mop, yeah
Eat it up, every drop, yeah
Designer, my drugs, designer, my jeans, designer, way down to my socks, yeah
You gotta match up to my fly, I can't get caught with an impostor
I can go back in my archive, I have these bitches starstruck
They perpetrate my whole life, I know this shit feel awful
Even though I'm ridin' with my glizzy, everyday, I still feel awesome

Stella McCartney, I'm drippin' on swag, and I swear it's a whole 'nother wave
Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
Secured the bag, it was Goyard
Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
Spent a lil' quarter, went push-start
Checked my persona, that's a new Ferrari
Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
All I said was facts, yeah
Fresh Dior off the runway, bought a gun store on a Sunday
Hit the switch on a Glock .40, my young niggas want bodies
I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah

Ballin', I keep my composure
She fuck with me for exposure
Drivin', V-12 my motor (skrrt)
They gon' 'member my name when it's over
Back of the 'Bach, I'm comfy (yeah)
Had to put on for my country (yeah)
Pourin' codeine in my tummy (yeah)
Wipe your nose like it's runny (slatt)
No opp block, sippin' on bubbly
Pluto my twin like Dudley (Dudley)
I'm on the win like Rocky (yeah)
Balenci' my socks, I'm cocky (yeah)
Certified G, I ate my fists
Brand new foreign, look fire with no kit
Drive in my city, top down, no tints
Walk in, red carpet, gotta pose for a pic
Tricks up my sleeve, got bitches on took
Ridin' with a .30 clip under my gut
Multiple mortgages, I ain't payin' no rent
When I die, my sister gon' benefit
I ain't G.D., but I'll take care, plenty folk
Crack in the truck, got plenty coke
Wheezy outta here, more waves than boats
Everyday, I'm fresh, I'm sellin' soap

Stella McCartney, I'm drippin' on swag, and I swear it's a whole 'nother wave
Brand new designer, gon' hop in the foreign, goin' and goin' to space, yeah
Secured the bag, it was Goyard
Stuffin' them racks in my Chrome Hearts
Spent a lil' quarter, went push-start
Checked my persona, that's a new Ferrari
Tellin' the truth, never lied to you
All I said was facts, yeah
Fresh Dior off the runway, bought a gun store on a Sunday
Hit the switch on a Glock .40, my young niggas want bodies
I get fresh than a stylist, and I never keep the receipts, yeah



Credits
Writer(s): Nayvadius Wilburn, Wesley Tyler Glass, Amir Esmailian, Navraj Gorava
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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