Back At It

Took a sip out the cup, codeine was in it
Aye I'm out of the game, I'm breathing different
Kel-Tec on me, put Keenan in it
Aye, all our straps got mean extensions
You a regular guy, we seem different
You can learn a lot from me, just breathe and listen
Jeans from Japan with the mean extension
I come from a city with demons in it
She want me to save her like family
When I run up the racks, wanna be me
Give her 2k then I leave her
I can't give my time to a skeezer
Aye round 'em all up, put time on

This ain't my bitch, this my servant
Turkey bags in the oven I'm workin'
They purpin', hoe bitch I'm Mr. Perfect
Came through
There's too many clowns, I did not come for the circus
How many purses on purpose?
Bitch I know which one ya workin', pay me
I never want be Jay-Z
I just wanna put the 'ism on a bitch
I just wanna add the digits to this shit
AP the wrist, Marino still the fit

Land in New Orleans, next stop get some crawfish
And white people love me like I'm from Boston
Mortal Kombat, victory, flawless
I ain't had no lean, now I feel nauseous
Hop in the jet, yeah we move like a X-Men
Shit kinda old, so I got get the next one
You niggas dope, but it's clothes I'm selling
Just like my Maryland niggas say, y'all wellin'

Sellin' that O
Every new year, a new coat
Blows Benihanas off blue
Fresh off a play
Told her bust down on her face
She let me bust on her face
I spent like 5, made that shit look like it's 30
Plot on the opps, big ol' 30
I make 'em nervous, money was up, I was hurtin' em
Them bitches is free, they workin'
Scale every tire, trappin ol' chef on the wire
Clean money, this out the dryer
A Jetson, I'm flyer
Smoking Andretti, I'm higher
Whip all the sauce and I'm tying the bag



Credits
Writer(s): Fendi P, Adam Kirkman, Christopher Golson, Ian Van Holloway, Christopher Oneil Upshaw
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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