Poetry

[Intro]
Like, huh, hold on, huh

[Verse]
Let the Lab chain swing but this bitch a trophy
We the motherfucking reason Apple got a shit emoji
Bae rock Christian Dior so my bitch is holy
Looking like December twenty-fifth, all these giffies on me
Think you finna play with my pape'? You would die for that
Bro'll wet yo fucking tee up like a laundromat
I ain't talking 'bout no seat belt but I ride with straps
Lemon Cherry stuffed in the 'Wood, bitch, Tron is smacked
Feel like Tropicana, got the juice off of punching shit
Funny I got four burners on me in the Oven Mitt
We ain't even beefing, buddy mad that I humped his bitch
She don't ask what I'm doing, bitch know I'm thumbing strips
Bitch thinking it's a spacecraft, it's a AMG
Empty-ass soul, ain't no love or no hate in me
Off-White X on my shirt, this a racist tee
She wanna give her heart, made yo bitch give her face to me
Trackhawks, Hellcats, you ain't racing me
If it's up then my baby sending shit to the gates for me
I be dogging niggas' hoes, ain't no taming me
Fan stopped me in the mall, my bitch saying, "It's the fame for me"
If I get a mill' today, bitch, me and gang breaking even
I should bring a fucking bed in that bitch, how I stay in Neiman's
Lil' bro'll pop yo ass just because, he can't tame his demons
I just hit the booth and shit talk, you would think my anus speaking
Bro sip expensive, on his Wock' in the Simply shit
Four pockets full but my heart on some empty shit
Chill day, still stepping out in some crispy shit
I don't know if she believe me or not, on some Ripley shit
For me, it's a giffy trip, unc' making brickies flip
This some Off-White, fuck I look like in Dickie drip?
Hunnid rounds in this lil' bitch, this the Mickey stick
With all that lil' shit, no cap, you can miss me, bitch
If you my dawg, you my dawg, boy, I got yo back
.762s flip his ass like a acrobat
All that shit you be rapping 'bout, put a cap on that
Let his ho ever say it's up, we gon' act on that
Drawing plays up for them bills, feel like Belichick
She can be yo lil' bitch, I'm still getting hella neck
Balenciagas on, boy, that's 10K in seven steps
Tryna throw a fist? That's gon' land you in Heaven, neph'
Yeah, Supreme tee with the liver, looking like an organ donor
Red bottoms for my bitch, boy, ain't no Jordans on her
Three-five after three-five, gang more than stoners
Since he playing with his fucking life, get it shortened on him
Pull up on my opps, wave a stick like it's sorcery
Green beams and white lows, boy, that's the force in me
You could see a damn biscuit, boy, you ain't horsing me
They say I'm shit talking but to me, this shit poetry