Burberry

[Intro: Veeze]
I'm in LA like it's Houston, sippin' syrup—

[Verse 1: Veeze]
I'm in LA like it's Houston, sippin' syrup and switchin' lanes
I'm a G.O.A.T. just like I'm Jiggy, pour it in my Minute Maid
I got knives stuck in my back and act like I ain't feel a thing
I'll take one out my back, turn on the stove, and whip the 'caine
You a corn, switchin' gangs, I was born in the game
It ain't warm, but I'm coppin' shores, goin' MIA
My niggas toyin' with them orange peels like the NBA
I come size 30 skinny jeans, 40 on my waist
I had to give this bitch a forty ball to get her out my face
You causin' scenes just like a faggot like I'm watchin' Will & Grace
Even when I was a young boy, I ain't tote no .38
I drop the soft up in the pot and watch it harden like it's James
You got a doctor that's gon' write it, tell 'em we want all the drank
I make money every day, this shit just ain't no fun and games
I can't lie, I say I love you, baby, I be runnin' game
You wanna make me happy, let my niggas run a train
Five thousand for the backend, split it up with Ray
You wanna learn a couple swag tips, get it off my page
We be ridin' with the shit SWAT usin' for the raid
I can get a job with Burberry sellin' white and beige

[Verse 2: RTB MB]
Hundred-round in that chopstick (Boom), spin the block and we drop shit (Hey)
Talkin' like you been a G, my enemies get boxed quick
Yeah, it's up, can't stop shit, you got a Glock, ain't pop shit (Yeah)
Richard Mille my tock-tick, my last chick was toxic (Damn)
Nigga, got the— in the trunk (Huh?)
Put the Tookie in the pack and I told him it was Runtz (Okay)
In the hood with all apes, ain't nan' niggas punks (Nah)
Talkin' crazy on the 'net, but in person, you stuck (Huh?)
My nigga Veeze got the cheese, but we don't fuck with rats (Don't)
She on her knees, she a tease, I'ma pull out her tracks, no cap (Huh?)
I'm in the trap and she throwin' it back
I said, "Relax," 'cause the pack got me gone to the max (Yeah)
I got some racks, she attached, I just told her relax (Huh?)
If you a rat, you get smacked, puttin' four in your back
You tryna match, I got Act', put some more in the Scat'
Where I'm from, I was that, had to grow and adapt, ayy (For real)
That's that past, though
I be walkin' 'round my whole hood like I'm Castro (Like I'm, uh, him)
Niggas need to get this understood, I'm an asshole (I'm a, uh, ayy, what?)
Bitches really thinkin' they the one, it's the cash flow (It's the, uh, what?)
When I'm with my dogs, told him, "Sic 'em," like he Pascal (Huh?)
Feds start knockin' at the front and the back door (And the back door)
Hella niggas actin' for the 'Gram, they a pack, though (They a—)
Catch you out chillin' with your mans, we gon' aim it at your afro (Huh?)
Girly said she know just who I am, she gon' milk me like I'm lactose (Damn)
Better watch your mans, he'll kill you for a bag, though, for real
Louis belt with the Raf Simons, I ain't sag, ho (Hey)
Gucci shirt, put the Glock 30 in the satchel (Damn, ayy, okay)