I mean
Huh, yeah
Fuck with that
Yeah, I said, yo
First off, the shirt smell like Maison Francis Kurkdjian
Burned down Bergdorf, merging John
Flirting with some old broad in Dior Amour Sauvage
Ain't no Tracee Ellis Rosses up at Ross
Maybe Erewhon and Balenciaga Erewhon
What's that scent you wearing, is that Sua?
Is that Porsche you call your car or that arm farce you got on
You trying to trauma bond, crying inside the Prada store
Like a spoiled little mama's boy, rocking joggers like a tomboy
Aaliyah with the Tommy boxers on
Niggas thought they was watching me fall off for so long
They ran out of popcorn, sodas, nachos, and hot dogs (hot dogs) (hot dogs)
My shit hit different, I look better than bitches, say to her listen, beauty isn't gender-specific
The only thing feminine about me is the sentence by Clive Christian
Woman think that I was trying to find religion, but God body don't shop at True Religion
The truth was written in plain sight, it was hidden, the range nice, cocaine white, like pagan women
Never pay the hit, we some ladykillers
Mercedes 680 whippers, whipping like Ye in the kitchen, nigga
Yeah, you bum ass niggas ought to be ashamed of yourselves, man
And y'all fucked the Cubans up, too
Mirror, mirror on the wall, I wish you could talk
Dog, I put that shit on, I'm shitting where I want, like a dog
I should be getting walked
I piss on the floor in Dior and Louis Vuitton
I shit on the floor in Dejeun and Yves Saint Laurent
I do what the fuck I want in Isabel Marant
Then run up the lawn run and pull a stunt
My bitch suck a bullet out a-, huh
Ooh, you're looking so goo-
Ooh, you're looking so goo-
Ooh
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