Diary

Talking out his neck I bet my niggas come and get em
Niggas being pussy so I tell my dawgs to sick em
Ice around my neck so you know she finna lick some
You spin around them blocks shooting shots tryna split some
I be counting checks getting neck I'm your big homie
You ain't got no bread you ain't really got no cheese homie
Steak and Benihana you be loving on that coney
Talking on they cell you can tell these Niggas phony

Been getting to this paper shit I did it by my lonely
All these bitches play stations yeah these bitches Sony
Strictly only Vlone you won't catch me rocking Tommy
I be off the gas high as hell you won't find me
They ain't got no money yeah these niggas they be lying
Who calling my phone? Pfft these bitches trying
Where was yo help when I felt like I was dying?
Now I'm flying
And I'm not talking planes I'm in air
Going shopping blow a bag like I don't even care
You be mad at life screamin like why this ain't fair?
Why you watch my moves? Why you niggas stare
Yeezy just dropped shit I think I need a pair
You ain't got no money you a bum you a square
When I get the money shit I blow it I don't care
Have em walk you down at the end with a stare
These expensive shades nigga I can't see no glare

Talking out his neck I bet my niggas come and get em
Niggas being pussy so I tell my dawgs to sick em
Ice around my neck so you know she finna lick some
You spin pin around them blocks shooting shots tryna split some
I be counting checks getting neck I'm your big homie
You ain't got no bread you ain't really got no cheese homie
Steak and Benihana you be loving on that coney
Talking on they cell you can tell these niggas phony



Credits
Writer(s): Justin Moore
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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