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 F*ck 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 f*ck 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 F*ck 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 f*ck 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