Quite Frankly

[Intro: Trapland Pat]
Welcome back Blake
Xair lemme get that motherfucker
Yeah (dududuh)

[Verse 1: Trapland Pat]
We cuttin' through the Bronx
Home runnin', think we with the Yankees
Raw paper, championship ring, I got it on my pinky
If you don't see Luh Tyler, and that Kosher, nigga quite frankly
Trap went and ran them racks up, he just went dressin' janky

[Verse 2: Luh Tyler]
I'm in the booth, me and trap on that gas, man this shit stanky
Got your bitch in here, and she throwin' ass, she keep sayin' "Spank me''
See, these niggas they ain't tryna get no bag, don't know what they thinkin'
Nigga, I ain't tryna make no friendships 'cause they get to sinkin'

[Verse 3: BLP Kosher]
Hoppin' out on feet, passion pit, I take a walk
Machine gun stays by my side like I'm Megan Fox
Them boys playing air guitar, bitch, I really rock
Spody and Luh Jojo in the cut that's a butchers block
I'm with Luh Tyler, no creator, odd future turnin' bright
Under my shirt that shinin' armor only hittin' licks at night
That's a dog fight, I'm breakin' that shit up like Dana White
Jews name was Mike Cook, he let me cook and pass the mic
Jitter bug, jitterin, I ain't buggin', they some lice
Long nights up in that Yoda, had to make a sacrifice
They disrespected 'til they saw I blew up, now they acting right
We be shining bright, the opps mad, flexin' moissanite

[Verse 4: Trapland Pat]
My side bitch from Brooklyn
Pull up from that 3
Hit the net another bookin'
Niggas mad hattin', quit cappin' before we hook him
Don't understand why they hating on my chances when I took them
All my hoes on my roster so bad but I don't want them

[Verse 5: Luh Tyler]
Yeah, all my niggas doin' good but all my bitches bad
Man, I swear these hoes be for the team and they be getting passed
See you ran up a lil' cash but that ain't finna last
I be stayin' in my lane, I ain't nothin' like you niggas
Man, my nigga, he insane, got a button on his pistol
I hit that nigga bitch like it's nothing, bet he miss her
I just jumped up on the mic, then I took off like a missile
I'm a big dawg to you niggas, bet they call me Mister
Can't get your bitch off me, she sees these diamonds and these crystals
I'ma snap any time you put me on the instrumental
Look at my neck, that bitch on froze, it get cold like December

[Verse 6: Trapland Pat]
Believe what you see, not what you heard, 'cause it ain't in vain
25 thousand grams of swappery I zoed the strain
My Cali' bih tryna go skiing 'cause Luh Tyler chain
25 ain't gon make the cut for that Johnny Dang
I can show you how to make the ends meet if it ain't circulation
You gon' have to really lock in, using concentration
If a nigga say he run Deerfield, thats exaggeration
Ski done beat that hat bout that Z, he ain't even Haitian

[Verse 7: BLP Kosher]
Pat told me stay from 'round the trick, he ain't Odell
Cash rules everything around me like the Carvel
Amy Winehouse, I'm sippin' cherry in the motel
Sir smoke a lot of opps, half baked, Dave Chapelle
Speedin' to that cheese in Saint Pete, but I'm not Russian
Woop dewoo, slid the palm tree with a bakers dozen
He was stretchin' shit before the fame like he Danny Duncan
Catch him out back and I'ma fry him, that's a blooming onion