Nah, go on T-Land, not even checked to these brothers, man They're boys, man, baby boys Still got oysters in that, not even oyster perpetuos Times different on there, it's just Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, like holy moly Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, wah, wah Yeah, fuck it, I'm a selfish prick Stacking ego, getting rich Fucking wagons, selling shit You in the ghetto getting nicked Champagne glasses in the whip Bosses told me that it's lit I got makeup on my dick Holy cow, holy shit When all problems, when we met They copped straights in their heads By this morning, made some eggs For your bae in my bed I ain't fazed by no success I got sticks and overheads Closed mouth, don't get bent Boy, you tired, go to bed I'm alive and I'm a ledge You alive, so why you dead? M.O.T.A.B. in the flesh We be busted in the flesh They can say it with a chance I just say it and it's pressed Why we send the SLS? Why we send the SLS? Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, like holy moly Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, wah, wah I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm a fucking nervous wreck God, I hate these sicker fans Everything that's in my head Sound like Kanye when he raps I don't do this for my gram I don't do this for no bands Why you tweeting me this shit? You ain't fucking relevant Someone tell him that I'm broke Someone tell him that he's broke Someone tell him that no boy done seen a Miller 24 In Australia for a show You ain't sure they still in code But I'm made by five pounds Anyone can get this smoke Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah Kings will in my lineage No trace, no witness Pray to God for forgiveness Line ball, wooden head The kids all know the play Chicks go all the way It's one phone call away, uh Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, like Holy Moly Oh my God, look at my rollie Look at my squad, yeah, yeah I'm a boss, in a posh It's very posh Too much sauce, too much sauce All my houses like my exes, too much floss My Lamborghini, it look like Jaws That's not a Rollie, it's Michael Kors Too much sauce You best run back to your older boy I know young Jesus gon' FaceTime If they white lie like Soulja Boy