Yeah, yeah Keep talkin', females, keep talkin' me I just keep a bitch cut, meat market, please Say freeze like fuck it, I'm defrostin', pap I gets green like Jack and the Beanstalk And I do them hoes stone cold, Steve Austin You ain't talkin' 'bout money, then you bluff or cheap talkin' My team often tell me that we flossin' Off in G4s, just, yeah, send reinforcements Got crazy divas in my ish And my car strapped like it's baby seaters in the whip I don't play nowadays, bitches treatin' for a trick Keep it money over bitches, won't repeat it for a chick Yes, fresh all-white Adidas in the whip And if you're talkin' 'bout weed then Orangina is my shit A couple grand for a feature is a bitch I'd hate to be you but you would love to be this Peep this G shit, T Lanez, G shit I bring the wave to them haters, make them haters seasick All the diamonds legit, all vagina we pick With your girl in my livin' room playin' WiiFit Get popped like three zits then shot like three flicks And my kicks Asian like Kimora Lee's tits, yeah Tell the waiter she can order me this We's rich, we don't even act accordingly It's the Mr. Nigga-Pick-Out-Your-Arteries, bitch I wish a nigga would try to slaughter me Follow me, Twitter bitch If you ain't got it, girl, get it, bitch Make the bitch make you rich, sorta like that player shit 'Cause nowadays women only wanna play a pimp They get the major, get paper, then play the pimp That's why fly by, I be like, "Fuck a bitch" After I fuck the bitch, I be like, "Fuck the bitch" I run game, no cutter glitch, somethin' rich Not tryna fuck, I'm tryna get head from your chick And real talkin', I don't do it for the people Fly through it I'm Knievel, Swine Flu, you need a needle Car doors writin' suicide letters to the people I ain't cool wit' the eagle, my juice call me beetle Uh, beat it like I beat the pussy Here's the heater, nigga, eat it like you eat the pussy And y'all yappin', y'all never brought a heater to me So long nappin' if they never brought the sleeper to me They like, "Aw man, Tory Lanez be that Tarzan" Pay him four grand, leave him laid up in a far land Tory garage like a farm, baby, all Lambs With no mirage, all menage, baby, all them With no Nicki, nigga, bitches rollin' with me So much grands in my pants that my pants can't fit me So dance with me, I'm the black Lance Ricky 'Cause I'm somewhere out in Houston, I ain't talkin' 'bout Whitney I jam swiftly, baddest bitches can't get me Now these hoes payin' me to even let them stand with me Damn it pans out, like highlighters I stand out Boom, like retirement homes, I bring them grams out And this is just a verse of what the man's 'bout So keep talkin', boy the whole shit's planned out Yup, I ride on 'em like a G2 Plus, I'm the smellin' like the shit, baby P.U I'm on my P.Q.s, karats look pre-juiced Grab your chick, yeah, and do the grown shit we do Yeah, see I'm up ready from the zone, bitch So, pay me and get murdered on yo' own shit, nigga Got your bitch in my knapsackTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
