LAX

Need no stylist
Dripped out bags
I'm racking mileage
Bitch so bad
Dont ask me bout her
Quarter case
These LV trousers
Count my money get right back
Roll my weed
Count my stacks
Fuck these fakes
Just like her ass
With a Kim K sag
Bob Sag w the Drag
Bob smith w the Dash
Don't smash less she Bad
For the fuck of it
I need a Ryder
Don't need me no friends
LeBlanc on the block
I'm a legend in my league
In Deep ends you starting to Swim
HBK with the sweep
Let me dance on my feet
Counting on the minutes til your end
Dont play me in the streets
When my shit on repeat
And ya bitch is just swallowing kids
Fuck how ya feeling
Count a quarter million in the safe
That's my feelings
Need no one next
If they ain't gon build w me
Bottom of
The bag
Where we shake on
The difference
Never had shit to my name
But a Image
Bloodline
Gold
Run thru the Stop sign
Snot in my nose
Never do wrong
To my brothers i know
Life fucked me over
No cheats to the code
Streets to the curb
Back to the Burbs
Comin to you First Class
Nadal with the serve
LAX
Baggage claim
Been there before
Two weeks in Mexico
See how it go
She wanna fuck for the Free
Yelling for the D
Wanna ride ride with me
I been on the block no yelling OGs
She wanna smoke but she smoking that kief
I got a block on the wrist no Drake
She wanna talk but she smoking that joint
Fucking with me you know that's Jordan
Twenty-three pumps she know she can afford it
Yaya