the PERFECT PLEX
Look
This ain't checkers, it's chess
I'm on ya head snapping back like I be the best
Shout out to Mitchell and Ness
I play four quarters like an arcade
I got seven billion kids, it's a damn shame
I told my mama get a gun if I get too rich
It's not a day that I'm lackin' you can try me bitch
My effervescence was lost
Had to find me a motive
Self aggrandize in the past but now I got a promoter
So I ain't gotta give a shout out to nobody
But family and God
Pussy boy this ain't no fucking facade
Half you niggas steady worried bout the next man pockets
Watch my cash steady launch like a fuckin' sky rocket shipping packs
Oh yes, wait a minute Mr. Postman
Collect the bread, all applaud for a toastman
I been about a dolla, give a fuck about nada
Mix the Ricky's with the Chrome or Dior and the Prada
Niggas can't figure me out
I move in silence, other niggas doing shit for the clout
I keep a stick in the house
And a stick in her mouth
I stay inside, so what the fuck you people talkin' about
You ain't runnin' the show, no you not getting paid
Stop tweetin', talkin' all that shit about getting laid
You ain't got no hoes
You are not that dude
(Man I hate that nigga)
Man I'd hate me too
Look I don't owe you nothin' so why you looking so funny
(He think he got him a bag)
Yeah and I fucked ya mommy
Drove off in that wide body two hundred the dash
Pretty bitch in the passenger and she rollin' my gas
LV on the shirt
GG on the shoes
RX in my stomach
CC with me too
Pour a four in that deuce
Boy I'm so out of reach
On the way to Miami
Brought the Wock to the beach
Poppin' pills like my granny
I need to leave em' alone
My mama called me crying
Said she want her baby boy home From that 7-1-3
To that +81
Living life so fast up in that 8-0-1
I got a bitch at the crib and she don't do nothing wrong
I got a bitch on the road
I don't know which one I want Screaming free Lil' Zay
Till it's backwards ya dig
And it's R.I.P. James
That's forever my nig
This ain't checkers, it's chess
I'm on ya head snapping back like I be the best
Shout out to Mitchell and Ness
I play four quarters like an arcade
I got seven billion kids, it's a damn shame
I told my mama get a gun if I get too rich
It's not a day that I'm lackin' you can try me bitch
My effervescence was lost
Had to find me a motive
Self aggrandize in the past but now I got a promoter
So I ain't gotta give a shout out to nobody
But family and God
Pussy boy this ain't no fucking facade
Half you niggas steady worried bout the next man pockets
Watch my cash steady launch like a fuckin' sky rocket shipping packs
Oh yes, wait a minute Mr. Postman
Collect the bread, all applaud for a toastman
I been about a dolla, give a fuck about nada
Mix the Ricky's with the Chrome or Dior and the Prada
Niggas can't figure me out
I move in silence, other niggas doing shit for the clout
I keep a stick in the house
And a stick in her mouth
I stay inside, so what the fuck you people talkin' about
You ain't runnin' the show, no you not getting paid
Stop tweetin', talkin' all that shit about getting laid
You ain't got no hoes
You are not that dude
(Man I hate that nigga)
Man I'd hate me too
Look I don't owe you nothin' so why you looking so funny
(He think he got him a bag)
Yeah and I fucked ya mommy
Drove off in that wide body two hundred the dash
Pretty bitch in the passenger and she rollin' my gas
LV on the shirt
GG on the shoes
RX in my stomach
CC with me too
Pour a four in that deuce
Boy I'm so out of reach
On the way to Miami
Brought the Wock to the beach
Poppin' pills like my granny
I need to leave em' alone
My mama called me crying
Said she want her baby boy home From that 7-1-3
To that +81
Living life so fast up in that 8-0-1
I got a bitch at the crib and she don't do nothing wrong
I got a bitch on the road
I don't know which one I want Screaming free Lil' Zay
Till it's backwards ya dig
And it's R.I.P. James
That's forever my nig
Credits
Writer(s): Benjamin Smith
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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