BEACH BALL (feat. BIA)

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (Hitmaka)

Uh, tell these hoes to kick rocks
Bitch ride the boat like it's a seesaw
Check your bags and your pussy, girl, 'fore you depart
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
Dolce & Gabanna, spoil him in Neiman Marcus (whoa)

Bitch pull the top down, why you keep coughin'? (Brrt)
Put her in the ocean, bet she suck a beach ball (ball)
Hoes moving up and down, seesaw (saw)
Give me backshots, now it's back to D.R (yup)
Fly you out to PR, can't put you in no Dior (D)

Look into my eyes, you could tell I want a D-boy (D)
Poppin' wheelies on that dick, he thinkin' I'm from Bmore
We should've been friends but I know you wanna be more
Touched my first M, niggas know I gotta see more
Get in my ends and you know I had to detour
Flew in first class just to sit up by the seashore
You can't fuck me in no G4

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops (Buss)
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (BIA, BIA)

Look, see, I inflated the plot
Ever since the day of crack sales I upgraded the block, nigga
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah
Louis and that Gucci make her bug and birked off
And drag me to a dressing room and give me top until she coughing
Water falling, sucking on these beach balls
And all these bitches walking 'round me talking about, "I miss ya"

Never kiss 'em, but I always hit 'em back to D.R (yup)
Shawty, yes, I see ya, who the fuck you thinking we are?
Think you bout to come up? See, them thoughts, you better ignore
Fuck you think you're foolin tryna come off like a sweetheart?
Think we more than homies? You's a motherfucking

Fuck these records up in ways you've never seen it before them
Bustin' everybody ass on records when I record 'em
Light shining, nigga, looking at me like, "Is he God?"
Aha, make sure you end your shit when we start

Cartier frames with the Gucci flip flops
Blowin' money fast, man, I'ma be Rick Ross (Ross)

Uh, tell these hoes to kick rocks (yeah)
Bitch, ride the boat like it's a seesaw (yup)
Check your bags and your pussy, girl, 'fore you depart
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah

Louis and that Gucci make her bug and birked off
And drag me to a dressing room and give me top until she coughing
Water falling, sucking on these beach balls
And all these bitches walking 'round me talking about, "I miss ya"
Give me backshots, now it's back to D.R