Peyton Back In '98

Wooo
Fatal, zip
L-U-X-E-B-O-Y money sign
You know what time it is baby
It's Mr. C-O-L-D himself man
Zero degrees
Look, mmm
Niggas already know man
I'm the coldest to ever do it
You know it
You feel me
The one to get the job done
You know what I'm saying
Ha, look
And nigga I don't really give a fuck
Who hate and who don't like
You could either fuck with me or don't
I don't really give a fuck nigga
I'mma do whatever the fuck I want to do
When I do it
I promise, look
Zip, fatal, look

Orchestrating plays I had to network
Till my net worth up
Peyton back in '98
Highlights on the first take
Pesos I accumulate
The illest let me demonstrate
The opps watch me obliterate
Come from nothing can't relate
I illustrate like copy and paste
Different steez authenticate
Studying like educate, yeah
Aye, same 24 hours why you feel a way
Never did complain about the pain and never tame
Never did complain about my life, it made the man
No silver spoons around
Got plastic forks
Got paper plate
Remember up in art class, making paper planes
See now we flying jets, G5 state to state
See I was once lost
Till I finally found a way
Huh, had to re-arrange had to make a change
Fuck your feelings don't give a fuck
I be laughing to the bank
Bank
Bank
Bank
Bank



Credits
Writer(s): Shaun Holt
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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