Gold Feet

My bitch rich, call her Opera
My bitch rich, call her Opera
My bitch rich, call her Opera
My bitch rich, call her Opera
Catch me flossed out, chillin' on the sofa
My bitch rich, you can call her Opera
She gon' drop that soap-uh, I'ma put my dick up in her coochie hole-uh
8-ball [?], smokin' on that douja
Chillin' on the block and I'm straight posted
Niggas lowkey, you ain't even see me
Ride BMW down the street
[?] ass shit, you can catch me on that swag
Steez on my fuckin' dick, you can catch it in the back
And I'm chillin' with that rugby on my motherfucking ass
Call me gold fuckin' feet ass, Marcy Mane swag
Steez

[Hook]
Catch me in the street
Gold fuckin' feet, gold fuckin' feet
Catch me in the street
Gold fuckin' feet, gold fuckin' feet

Orange shirt, I'm glowin'
Hoes on my dick, white bitches, yeah it's snowin'
I'm 'bout to shovel 'em up, sniff 'em up my nose
I ain't talkin' 'bout that white but I'm talkin' 'bout that yellow
Ranger, turn a nigga into a surprise
And I got a fat bitch with them Popeyes fuckin' thighs
They thick at the top, skinny at the ankles
Roll up that swisher and we smokin' dank-oh
Chillin' in the street
Marcy to the Mane and I got them gold feet
Chillin' in the street
With them gold feet