B In The Front

Can't tell the difference
These bitches like synonyms
Talkin' the same way to me
Couple of sentences
Got her pussy turnin' cinnamon
Wetter it get it get it sweet
Cant do a jeep, need suburbans
Too deep when I'm rolling
I fill that with twenty two g's
Like I'm outta Sharjah, that side of Sahara
Where buildings be growing out
More than the trees
Like I ain't her mister and you not my misses
So bitch I make sure that rubber staying on
After we fuckin', she wanna' be more
Asked me to sing her a song
Told her to gimme a minute
I pulled out my phone
In a couple seconds I was gone
When I hop out a top, with the B in the front
You congratulate me like Malone

I'm part of the parts
That you dont want a part of
Got twelve in the park
In a station they watching
Ya' heart get attacked, that ain't Demi Lovato
If they tryna spark then u know imma bark it
Like you been a passenger
I'm pressin' throttles
I'm on situations security stopping
Ya' bitch in the back
Didnt know that she followed
Like dont her gassed, she a three not a model
Smokin' Afghani, that shit not gelato
Smoke got me stressing
Won't sleep til' tomorrow
They movin' with manuals
I'm movin' auto
I got me a blueprint
A 'B' gonna follow
Like 'Z' got a queen
But for me need her hollow
A back that can bend
And a mouth that can swallow
Brand new whip
She hopped in
Hand on my lap
Give me jack like I'm Harlow

I pop in her party, no Tjay or Polo
Yeah popped in this party
These doggies dont like me
Bout' a bitch, lotta' them wanna fight me
I wasn't invited, no need to invite me
I go where I want
Don't need back up behind me
Don't tell bro the addy
They might just confine me
Hittin' hard, gown' do more than a coma
Won't fuck up my life
Just gown' fuck up a comma
I don't got Netflix, no time for some drama
I'll cut to the action if they movin' gaga, bro
Fuck is inside of this spliff that we smoking
My mind on a hunnid, but movin' on slow
(Who next in)
Who next in line, try get put in a joint
When you crossin' this line
Won't get counted as points
Pussy was tryna' shoot 3's
Outta' bounds
You step without lookin'
Might cost you your joints

Can't tell the difference
These bitches like synonyms
Talkin' the same way to me
Couple of sentences
Got her pussy turnin' cinnamon
Wetter it get it get it sweet
Cant do a jeep, need suburbans
Too deep when I'm rolling
I fill that with twenty two
Like I'm outta Sharjah, that side of Sahara
You talkin', the fuck are you gonna' do
Like I ain't her mister and you not my misses
So bitch I make sure that rubber stayin' on
After we fuckin', she wanna' be more
Asked me to sing her a song
Told her to gimme a minute
I pulled out my phone
In a couple seconds I was gone
When I hop out a top, with a B in the front
You congratulate me like Malone
(Ahh ah)