Phone Call

Uh huh
Yeah
Flex it
I'm bicep
My voice is high hat
Your debt I smile at
Where's my deposit?
Graduated college
I'm boss that's mileage
My voice
Iconic
You're just ironically
Here
I'm Jet lee dear
Kickin' truth honestly here
Beware
You should be fair
I'm a be clear
I'm as harsh as a blunt
So don't creep here
And stereotype me like the streets did
Be wiz
You let the streets hit
And when there's beef hide
That's weak shyt
Fuck all that weak shyt
That's why your weaves hit
And my weed's lit
You give college dome
While I'm like college dome
A metaphor of what your man are striving for
Now I'm a nut
Cause he can't put it in my gut
While you sit easy enough for the both of us
I run a kingdom
I'm a queen duh
You run kings til dumb
I take care of em'
Make em' number one
You my son
You son'd
Ignite the sun
What I roll
I bun
Guess what now I'm a rapper son
Shout out to the sweetest goonie
The holy one
Prostitutes where stockings
Only the holey ones
I only own me son
Only shyt a pimp stocking is the hoes they run



Credits
Writer(s): Tara Mona Kelly
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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