Ayy When I walk in a room, all the niggas lookin' at me like "What is my income? " Not jumpin' no brooms, that nigga get stood up like how the broom challenge just went down Don't wanna assume but bitches really broke and I don't know where y'all get rent from And I'ma just spit in your face if you walk up to me asking me "Can I spit sumn? " 'Cause I do not talk if it ain't about money I look at your mouth like you ramblin' I can merch this on God, I just lost 700k off of nothin' but gamblin' I went sick and got fraud but I had to fight all my demons, that shit was real challengin' So now when I walk around people with money, I say shut up like a mannequin (Shh) So I can just soak up they info Now my bank copy that, that's ten fold I don't go wherever the wind blow 'Cause if my wig fall off, that's the end ho But lucky I'm paid, edges stay laid like prostitutes on a Friday night While you suckin' his thing, I'm outside pullin' strings Like a bitch flyin' kites And no I don't rock mics Red bottoms with the spikes Tinted windows, out of sight No cash, just swipe Cashier like, "Yikes! She's black not white" When I hop off my flight, Naomi Campbell with the wipes, ayy Save his number under "typo" 'cause that nigga wasn't my type It's nothin' to talk to these niggas like shit but I'd rather not do that today 'Cause niggas be trippin', I'd rather just tell a nigga "Tie your fuckin' shoelace" And niggas is bitches, I'd rather just give they ass a motherfuckin' bouquet And I'm really birthing bitches when they drop an album then that's my due date, ayy
Bitch I'm eating good, double chin, black card match her skin Fuck all my old friends, I'm not tryna make amends (Lawd, Jesus) I said "Mama chill, we gon' win" Money keep comin' in I'm tryna change from back then But every time I hear the sins (Lawd, Jesus)
I'm on some positive vibes but every time niggas testin' my patience Only could wait for so long, before I do you wrong 'Cause I'm not a waitress (On God) Every December 31st, I go in the new year with no type of hatred Then back January 3rd, the neighbors hurt, while they treating my playlist Man these dirty bitches don't do the dishes Then tell a nigga "Come eat the butt" (How?) And wake up with crust in they ass and that shit thicker than Pizza Hut But I'm off it, they coughin' Yeah I know how to market, no Boston Tell a nigga don't talk it, just walk it Pop a nigga like John's way too often (Brr)
Bitch I'm eating good, double chin, black card match her skin Fuck all my old friends, I'm not tryna make amends (Lawd, Jesus) I said "Mama chill, we gon' win" Money keep comin' in I'm tryna change from back then But every time I hear the sins (Lawd, Jesus)
Compositores: Elizabeth Eden Harris (Cupcakke), Carter Brown Britz ECAD: Obra #41530670