Forgive Me

(Verse 1)
Look
We lost fly and got flyier
Spendin cash on E
Polo White T and my Christian Dijon jeans
Those Jordans don’t impress me, I hoop in them shits
Fuck fame and the versi’s, I’m just tryin to get rich
We lost fly and got flyier
Spent cash all week
Polo White T and my Christian Dior jeans
Those jordan’s don’t impress me, I’m hoop in them shits
Fuck fame and the Versace, I’m just tryin to get rich
Look I come from the struggle
Errbody rap bro, it’s all about your hussle
We only blow strong man we smoking on that muscle
And bitches ain't real, I don’t love you cuz I don’t trust you
Uncle Skoot taught me that, I’m just a young nigga
You try to mob man I hope you brought your guns wit cha
My niggas hungry, They be juggin tryna make it out
I’m livin proof that you could stunt and still be in the drought
Just know I’m ridin for my niggas, they won't chalk me out
I’m hittin hoes, I’m hittin stains in my Ferragamo
Tell dem Thots I’m in the city Get a hundred bottles
And I get high everyday cuz we might not see tomorrow
Dem Shells hit you Asap if we got fuckin problems

(Hook)
Aye you fuckin wit a Young nigga
Versace Killa
Pop dat pussy like a drug girl
Its M-O-B I bang the Mob
We don’t do love girl
We just get money, Fuck dese bitches and dey homegirls
I’m buyin Fendi
Please forgive me
I’m a young nigga
Versace Killa
Pop dat pussy like a drug girl
Its MOB I bang the Mob
We don’t do love girl
We just get money, Fuck dese bitches and dey homegirls
I’m buyin Fendi
Please forgive me

(Verse 2)
Look, Aye look that young nigga Rico
One hunnid like a c-note
Control shit like a remote, Choppers big as D-bol
Beat em down, I shoot cha down
No squares when we come around
We don’t blow dem 50 sacks, Bitch we smoke it by the pound
Music weed guns loud
Turnin up no turnin down
I just spent your rent on shades, Bet dem bitches see me now
Errbody on tv, fuck fame, lets get rich
Like me rip, that’s Hamilton
Got dese hoes naked like Africans
I rolled up dey pop beans
All these hoes be doin dicks, all these thots be fuckin tricks
I mean so much, this shit is sick
Put that bitch on back page
Bought the MOB J’s the next day
Don’t be mad at her mane cuz she played your ass like 2k
Last week we brought 2k’s, been off the drink for 2 days
My OG crib like a gun range
My money fast like mustangs
I’m sippin lean like Pimp C
Runnin shit like 6 feet
Versace ring on my trigger finger
When I shoot shit it’s still designer
All these hoes want a hot boy, on fire, smoking fire
Man we just some young niggas whose getting rich and getting high
Cross da mob and you meeting God
In the Fendi store like I need it all
WNBA shit, dey know all my bitches ball
Girl fuck wit Young and I get your life together
I’m a fly mothafucker, I could prolly change the weather
And I still don’t get dress, I just put shit together
And a skirt is still a skirt, don’t give a fuck if dat bitch is leather

(Hook x3)