Out here fucking bitches popping bands
He in bootcamp, you on food stamps
And i'm strollin' down south like good luck chuck
Flame it up, hear my flow, i changed it up
I know you're mad, but so what
My teenage years were fucked up,
And put my wrist up something similar to a stick up
Ah hell not the beast really i don't give a fuck
Shades: lv was a little dough
Set up my own home studio
But it made me the man i am today, thanks
Gimme a hundred grand, don't need the rubber bands,
Lyrics, couldn't understand, still didn't pop rubber bands
I'mma sip moscato and you gon' lose them pants
Consequences of my charming chatter up
I got class and can't take this bitch to math, what
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