Yes, b#tch, these red bottoms so don’t break yo neck
But when I hit the road, I drive off in the Nike tech
Channing Frye to the scamming, I’m a f#cking vet
Dawg, stop hating on me and go and get a check
Had to turn around, my backseat a f#cking mess
Double G’s on me, you will never catch me wearing Guess
Louis checkers on me, come and play a game of chess
Ten bands is my goal, I ain’t coming back for less
You stressed, tripping on that ho, boy, you pressed
I’m blessed, can’t you tell by the way I dress?
It’s a mess, good hollows tearing up his flesh
ShittyBoyz thrusted up, all we know is flex
Yes, got more pieces on me than a damn puzzle
Suede Balenciagas on so I’m watching out for puddles
All the highlights that I made, I deserve a huddle
Two pieces hit for ten, that’s a double double
Mari owe me seventeen and he in the Beamer
White Balencis on, looking like some f#cking coffee creamer
Hit the set with the giffies, f#cking up Big Beaver
James in that black Jeep looking like the Grip Reamer
I got love for my [?] and that’s to the grave
n#gg# run up on me? I’ma send his #ss to the grave
Run up on crazy on us? Yeah, bro, you mighty brave
Hold on, bro, I’ll call you back, I got another play
Yes, that was us horsing n#gg#s at the festival
Jeans cost six hundred, b#tch, get off my testicles
You ain’t street, stay in the crib and eat yo vegetables
You got a play? Of course my schedule flexible
My shooter pull up in that hoodie, call that n#gg# “Melo”
Take off them Space Jams, them b#tches getting yellow
Stop smoking on them squares and them petty rellos
Red bottoms on my feet looking like I stepped in Jell-O
Asked what’s on my feet? Just know these b#tches foreign
Deep from the redzone, I’m talking [?]
I’m scoring, balling on these n#gg#s like I’m Horace
You snoring, the whip woke you up, this b#tch roaring
Giffies hitting hard as f#ck, I punched a BAPE sweater
Broke n#gg#s look up to me, I’m a trendsetter
Yeah, that’s yo b#tch but I promise you I make her wetter
I’m into horsing n#gg#s like equestrian
Hit the road off the juice, I might kill a pedestrian
And if I’m a b#tch, come over here and test me then
Bro said he got a play, I just told him text me when
Got white boy shooting on my team like Pistol Pete
They’ll take you out the game like when the whistle beep
Green and red Gucci looking like a f#cking Christmas tree
Play with my cash and my dawg getting to gripping heat
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
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