OMG

(Hey, what's good, 'Trou?)
Uh, uh

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrists
Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"
And she ain't my type, nah, still hit
Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick
They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?
He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"
They like, “Oh my God, he still lit
He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"

Been gifted since a toddler, I'm drippin', call the doctor
Love sippin' on that Wocka, on a strip with all my shottas
Label buildings talkin' proper, keep stick like Harry Potter
For real, we bury oppers, he get shells like Larry Lobster, uh
Liu Kang, kick it in that Mulsanne, we made him a new strain
Jordan in the Flu game, ballin'
They call me Bruce Wayne, pull up in that coupe thang
Make her wanna lose brain, she ate me like I was on the food chain
Finished, sike, nah, I could never quit
He thought he was funny, .40 rock him, Will Smith
And you thought he was hard? He a real bitch
We like NLMB 'cause we really kill shit
They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrists
Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"
And she ain't my type, nah, still hit
Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick
They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?
He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"
They like, “Oh my God, he still lit
He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"

Like who is he? I don't know him
He tempt me, I'ma show him
Heard he keep glizzy on him and put lean in every soda
He be heavy smokin' and he be desi blowin'
We blick, he belly rollin', tryna leave his buddy soakin', uh
Cash flow, treat her like a asshole
I stay with a fat roll, keep on running pass go, money on him
Maxo, he love lettin' Gats blow, he hot like Tabasco
Hop right out the back and put twenty on him

They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrists
Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"
And she ain't my type, nah, still hit
Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick
They like, “Oh my God, look at his wrists
Brand new Cartier, that shit cost him twenty-six"
And she ain't my type, nah, still hit
Shittin' on my haters like my stomach feel sick
They like, "Oh my god, when will he quit?
He been chasing paper, one day he'll be real rich"
They like, “Oh my God, he still lit
He play for the Raiders way he in the field, bitch"

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind.

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