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I got ten black cars, at the venue I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into A hustler going corporate (For real) Preparation prevent poor performance Pray my karma, it don't come back on my daughters Ho say she lit up from them cribs, just bring some water Labels sending deals, but I keep turning down they offers It ain't bout the money; can't put that in my coffin I got the clerk confused, I'm buying cups, no coffee I'm the chosen one, frozen up I did Hutch and Golden Sun Got my coins up, like Temple Run Must not know 'bout Yodе run Must not know 'bout Randy's son Wavy boy, the one who ran it up Ain't signing shit, 'til they put my family up (For rеal) I won't crack a smile until I'm puttin' Grammy's up You just touched your first hunnid? That's goin' bad to us You a friend of me, or enemy? Don't waste your time try adding me Want these kicks, gotta wait a week Custom Goyard baggage me Sorry, but I'm fuckin' fans, bad bitches keep taggin' me Letras de cancionesOld niggas, they're sending threats to me 'cause they ain't next to me Bitch niggas, they think I owe them something but ain't invest in me They keep on talking twenty K, decline respectfully Call my phone back-to-back, them Bamas got a check for me You can tell I never had shit, I'm driving recklessly I got ten black cars, at the venue I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into From in these streets, to industry Can't let codeine finish me Don't let old friends that I cut off tell you that we're enemies All these hoes backstage tryna fuck, must think it's ten of me Diamonds flashing, boxes gettin' wrapped up; I'm a Christmas tree Rule number one, It ain't no postin', and ain't no kissin' me Rule number two, don't tell my business, that's gon' get you cut Gotta watch my back, I sent the driver just to pick her up Y'all know I'm a tipper, paid a thousand, just to get the cut I just damn near set the club on fire, bottles lit it up This shit ain't for you, if you fall off and you can't get back up (Yeah) Lately, I ain't gotta say too much, to get your bitch to fuck Brodie I got flavors, for occasions, 'Face, we kitted up (Yeah) Thirty-somethin' racks later, OD camp done did it up Money low? Then get it up Need a load? Come get with us Hoes choose to swap it with my brodie, that ain't shit to us I'm in London, say she like my accent, got the sprinter stuck Eating beans, keepin' lean with me Say she never seen fifty My rich homeboy say how much to bring with him I love that bitch, man, I can't lie, but never seen with her Got my jeans stuffed, this shit too much Gon' bust the seams in it I got ten black cars, at the venue I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into I don't rap politic, tell me what you into From Letras Mania