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Drake - Her Loss Album Lyrics



Drake - Her Loss Lyrics
(Featuring 21 Savage)






Rich Flex

Go buy a zip of weed, hit the club
Pay for 'bout ten niggas to get in, we crunk, lit, in this bitch, yeah
Know we walk around the world
Steppin', not givin' a damn 'bout where our feet land at, yeah
Get your ass mushed, smooshed (6ix)
Yeah, 21, the biggest
Put a nigga in the chicken wing, pussy

21, can you do somethin' for me? (21)
Can you hit a lil' rich flex for me? (21)
And 21, can you do somethin' for me? (21, 21)
Drop some bars to my pussy ex for me
Then 21 (21), can you do somethin' for me? (Yeah)
Can you talk to the opps necks for me? (Okay)
21, do your thing 21, do your thing (21)
Do your thing, 21, do your thing

Yellow diamonds in the watch, this shit cost a lot
Never send a bitch your dot, that's how you get shot
I DM in Vanish Mode, I do that shit a lot
Took her panties off and this bitch thicker than the plot
All my exes ain't nothin', them hoes busted
If my opps ain't rappin', they ass duckin'
You ain't ready to pull the trigger, don't clutch it
I know you on your period, baby, can you suck it?
I'm a savage (21)
Smack her booty in Magic (21, 21)
I'll slap a pussy nigga with the ratchet (pussy)
I might slap a tracker on his whip and get the addy (pussy)
Don't call me on Christmas Eve, bitch, call your daddy (21)
Bitch, call your uncle (21), bitch, don't call me (21)
Always in my ear, your ho a flea (f*ck)
Why my opps be postin' guns and only use they feet? (21)
Paid like an athlete, I got-

All you hoes, all of you hoes need to remember who y'all talkin' to
It's a Slaughter Gang CEO
I got dick for you if I'm not workin', girl
If I'm busy, then f*ck no
You need to find you someone else to call
When your bank account get low, you need to find you someone-

Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
I'm on that Slaughter Gang shit, ayy, murder gang shit
Ayy, Slaughter Gang shit, ayy, murder gang shit, ayy

Sticks and stones, chrome on chrome
That's just what a nigga on
Internet clones, got 'em kissin' through the phone
Pussies cliquin' up so they don't feel alone, ayy
Nan' nigga seein' me, I'm Young Money CMB
I used to roll with CMG, the house is not a BNB
The bad bitches waitin' on a nigga like I'm PND
I'm steady pushin' P, you niggas pushin' PTSD
I told her ass to kiss me in the club, f*ck a TMZ
I used to want a GMC, when Woe was doin' B&E
We revvin' up and goin' on a run like we DMC
I layup with her for a couple days, then its BRB
You rappers love askin' if I f*cked, when you know we did
When you know we did
She came in heels but she left out on her cozy shit
Ayy, I'm livin' every twenty-four like Kobe did
Shoutout to the 6ix, R.I.P to 8
Swear this shit is gettin' ate, I'm on ten for the cake
Get a lot of love from twelve, but I don't reciprocate
Fifty-one division stay patrollin' when it's late
21 my addy, so the knife is on the gate
All the dawgs eatin' off a Baccarat plate
Niggas see Drake and they underestimate
Take it from a vet', that's a rookie ass mistake, ayy

Ah, what, what
Slaughter Gang shit, ayy, murder gang shit
Ayy, Slaughter Gang shit, ayy, murder gang shit
Ayy, Slaughter Gang shit, ayy, murder gang shit
On God
Boy, look, you the motherf*ckin' man, boy, you, ooh
You is the man, you hear me?
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aldrin Davis, Anderson Hernandez, Anthony Germaine White, Bobby Session, Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Charles Bernstein, Clifford J. Harris, Gladys Hayes, Isaac De Boni, Jahmal Gwin, Megan J Pete, Michael Mule, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Major Distribution

No, no, no, no, no, no
No, no, no, no, no
Major distribution, man, my label on my dick, for real
F*ckin' with your friend and she ain't tell you, y'all ain't shit, for real
I've been out here crushin' on success, now she my bitch, for real
You say I'm persuasive, girl, but you can't spell that shit, for real

Hmm, hmm, in this mansion, I'm Macaulay Culkin
Paid in full, I'm Mekhi Phif'
Know you're tired, we just did dinner for three hours
Lyin' to me all night
Buyin' BM's Benzes out of spite
Paid a hundred, ran up somethin' light
Simple price to keep 'em out my life
Booby Trap, we need a business office
Magic City, need a business office
Twenty-nine, I keep a business office
I'm in love with Houston, Dallas, Austin
Tell your guys to hold off on the team chains
Seem like they may need money for coffins
Cuban girl, her family grind coffee
Text me on the signal, don't call me
Hmm, hmm, major distribution, labels call me
Bad Bunny numbers, it's a robbery
Five-hundred million, just for Aubrey
Mmm, hmm, yeah, major distribution how I pop it
Mention me to be the hottest topic
Same place you send your bitches shoppin'

Okay, go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Okay, okay, go stupid, stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, okay

Nigga tried to play this shit light, play it cool, play me like I'm sweet
F*ckin' on an opp nigga bitch, say she miss the golds in my teeth
4L shit, know we steppin', y'all should get to funeral preparin'
SF90, this is not McLaren, make an IG model run my errands
He go missin', we gon' spin his parents, stayed in Houston long as Steve Francis
Shoot his feet, got him doin' dances, wiggin' niggas like I played at Kansas
Ever seen somebody get shot? Lot of shit I seen before the top
I ain't tryna wrestle like The Rock, f*ck the Tris, I'd rather sip the Wock'
Lot of things I do to stay alive, everything except for call a cop
Savage still let his gun pop, FOX 5 gang, get you knocked
Major distribution, labels callin', Harry Styles numbers, it's a robbery
My niggas go in-Zayn to catch a body, we was face to face, you could've shot me

Okay, go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Okay, okay, go stupid, stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, go stupid
Go stupid, okay
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Edgar Ferrera, Elijah Fox-Peck, Miles Parks McCollum, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Tyshane Thompson
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






On BS

Yeah, whoa, whoa, whoa

I had to cut some niggas off, they didn't mean me no good
I come from the ghetto, so my trunk is in my hood
She wouldn't wear no panties 'round me even if she could
Gave out plenty spankings 'til they got it understood
F*ck the nosebleeds, baby, come sit on this wood
If you know it's tension, don't come 'round me like it's good
I got street smarts and you can't get this out no book
I can't right my wrongs, but I can still write these hooks

Oh, time to get exposed
You ain't been from 'round here, nigga, come get off your show
Savage said you pussy and he hit it on the nose
But that border's open, why you actin' like it's closed?
I don't know
Y'all be goin' in and out recessions
The same way that I be goin' in and out of Texas
Or in and out my sessions, or in and out her best friends
Or in and out these courtrooms, my lawyer like, "Objection"

Yeah, whoa, whoa
All my bitches Spanish, Boricua
Water on my neck, these diamonds came with coral reefer
She from overseas, I had to buy her a new visa
Met your wife in Vegas, but I hit her in Ibiza
She a supermodel, so she only eatin' Caesar
Used to date a rapper, but he acted like a diva
Niggas hustlin' backwards, out here ballin' with the re-up
Popped an Adderall, I feel like I can lift a tree up
Seen too many cameras, so I never lift my ski up (yeah)
I jump on your song and make you sound like you the feature
I jump on your song and make a label think they need ya, for real (yeah)

On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit, we on all the bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay, okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (yeah)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
All the bullshit

Damn, maybe I should do a twenty, maybe I should break that twenty, do a ten
Maybe I should break that ten, do a five, then if it gets live, do a five again
If he held his tongue on that live, he'd be alive again, damn
My uncle's sister know she raised a real one, ill one
It's been thirty minutes, I don't feel nothin'
Oh shit, wait a minute, think I'm startin' to feel somethin'
Where you get this motherf*ckin' pill from?
Heard they got some sanctions on my name
Heard they plottin' on my name, heard they bankin' on my name
I got Lita in this bitch and he might spank it on a lane
I'm just- what? In the cut, throwin' Franklins on her frame
I'm a- ayy, I'm a gentleman, I'm generous
I blow a half a million on you hoes, I'm a feminist
I never put no prices on the beef until we end this shit
I pay a half a million for his soul, he my nemesis

On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit, we on all the bullshit (okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay, okay)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (yeah)
On that bullshit (okay), on that bullshit (okay)
All the bullshit

Nah, I'm on, it's midnight, I don't care
Nothing's happening on a Wednesday, I don't care, I'm on
I'm looking for the smoke
These guys sitting front row, man, poof, who needs that?
Let me put my window down, I need fresh air
We don't want that, we want bars
The reason why we listen to 21 and The Boy
That's what we do in Paris, we don't do Fashion Week
Fashion Week, it's for the last decade, it's not for us
It's about the lights, the lights that we put on in the city
The lights of the Eiffel Tower
I'm in charge of it, I'm the one who's putting it on every day
And you try to flex next, next to me on the red light with your ugly
Whatever, flexing, most expensive car, V12
I drive a four-cylinder, I come from nothing but I'm doing something
And you cannot catch my drive
As fast as you try to go, you will never catch me, man
There is only one way, and this way I'm driving, nobody can do it
I'm Birdman, that's who I am
In Paris
Brrt, brrt
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Elias Sticken, Ozan Yildirim, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Simon Gebrelul
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






BackOutsideBoyz

BackOutsideBoyz, totin' a seventy on the strip, I'm ready to die (die)
Cuttin' the traction, bendin' the corner, bet I make shit glide (shh)
Tried to bring the dram' to me, he ain't know how we cha-cha slide (yeah)
I'll never lose sleep over no bitch, way too much pride (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Fill it up in a briefcase, split this shit with the vibes (yeah, yeah, hm, hm, hm)

Breakin' a Brink's truck, my right wrist Van Cleef (Cleef)
I spent days in the East tryna figure if I'm geeked ('kay)
This bitch tweakin', talked too much while I was geeked, blew my peep (brr)
F*ckin' rap niggas' hoes, I'm on the street, this shit sweet (hey)
I went half a million on rosé, did four million on my ice (hey, hey)
Couple million on my cars, I went Tyson, I'm too nice (hey, hey)
Nigga stopped me on the street, wanted to talk, so he asked my price (yeah, hey, 'kay)
The number was high as me, I ain't gon' lie (yeah, okay)
I was f*ckin' with this lil' woe, I think she bi (bi)
Tweakin', the 6 God is comin' back (brr)

BackOutsideBoyz, totin' a seventy on the strip, I'm ready to die (okay)
Cuttin' the traction, bendin' the corner, bet I make shit glide (hm)
Tried to bring the dram' to me, he ain't know how we cha-cha slide (hm, slide)
I'll never lose sleep over no bitch, way too much pride (brr, brr)
Fill it up in a briefcase, split this shit with the vibes (hm, hm, uh, hm, hm, let's go)

I don't know nothin' 'bout no crime or no news
I'm an owl, but I'll never tell you who (who)
Wagon when she walk, she get on planes, it take up two (go)
My member just got out, he still on papers, still'll shoot (shoot)
Shoot, ayy (shoot it up)
Still'll shoot (shoot up, brrt, shit)
Love on me, stay down just like a root (just like a root)
She a ten tryna rap, it's good on mute, yeah (it's good on mute, shh)
It's financial, girl, I got the loot, ayy, yeah (I got the loot)
For the bands, lil' bae, what you gon' do? Yeah (oh, what you do?)
Tropicana, that shit there the juice, yeah (juice)
I'm the president, some Secret Service shit, we down to dump (brrt)
Yeah, who the president? I never voted once, ayy, yeah
If I did, I would vote Teanna Trump, ayy, yeah (hm, go)
If you play with me, I'm backin' out that one (backin' out that one)
I treat mil' tickets like a hundred racks (let's go)
Tweakin', the 6 God is comin' back (damn, damn, okay)

BackOutsideBoyz, totin' a seventy on the strip, I'm ready to die (die)
Cuttin' the traction, bendin' the corner, bet I make shit glide (shh)
Tried to bring the dram' to me, he ain't know how we cha-cha slide (yeah)
I'll never lose sleep over no bitch, way too much pride (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Fill it up in a briefcase, split this shit with the vibes (yeah, yeah, hm, hm, hm)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Danny Snodgrass, Dylan Taylor Cleary-Krell, Miles Parks McCollum, Rio Leyva, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Privileged Rappers

Whoa, whoa, yeah
Look at me dead in my eyes, I know that you know that a nigga ain't lyin'
Too much respect, all of my shawty BDs, they know not to try it
Too much respect, I used to hand out CDs before they would buy it
Whoa, she love me so much, it seem like she biased
Niggas don't know how I live, but that's 'cause they live at the Hyatt, ayy
4L step team steppin' on shit 'til it's quiet
He brought me the money sealed up, I still had to count it, I cannot just eye it

Whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, let's have sex in the bank, tell 'em to open the safe
I hate a privileged rapper who don't even know what it take
The diamonds, they hit like a rainbow, that's 'cause the necklace a Frank (purr)
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, let's have sex in the Nines (let's do it)
Breakin' and bendin' her spine (let's do it, let's do it)
I hate a privileged rapper that ain't had a hit since he signed (let's do it)
Niggas be full of excuses, act like they takin' they time (for real, for real)

Whoa, whoa, whoa
Look at me dead in my eyes, you see all the times that I had to go slide (21)
Too many sticks, we go to war with whoever, ain't never been biased (pussy)
Too many sticks, how was they your opps and none of 'em died? (pussy)
Hol' up (21), hol' up (21), hol' up (21)
Why you pull up at one in the morning and sit on the edge of the bed? (For what?)
Textin' emojis, tongue out, eggplant, must've went over her head (21)
Catch him outside of the studio (pussy), make him repeat what he said (pussy, pussy)
Yeah, yeah, let's have sex in the car (on God)
The Maybach came with a bar (21)
I'm wipin' my dick with her bra (21, pew, pew, pew)
Sniped his ass, he got hit in the head from far (pussy)
Opps gets undivided attention, I give them my all (on God)
How you come over to the spot when you know it's your time of the month? (How?)
Make a diss and see how fast you go from the booth to a blunt (pussy)
She say she hungry, I gave her dick for brunch (on God)
Send me my whole fee, I don't do backends and fronts (21)

No, no, no
Let's have sex in the bank, tell 'em to open the safe
I hate a privileged rapper who don't even know what it take
The diamonds, they hit like a rainbow, that's 'cause the necklace a Frank (purr)
Whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, let's have sex in the Nines (let's do it)
Breakin' and bendin' her spine (let's do it, let's do it)
I hate a privileged rapper that ain't had a hit since he signed (let's do it)
Niggas be full of excuses, act like they takin' they time (for real, for real)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Chris Jasper, Ernie Isley, Gentuar Memishi, Isaac Bynum, Marvin Isley, Miles Parks McCollum, Noah James Shebib, O'kelly Isley, Ronald Isley, Rudolph Isley, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph
Copyright: Lyrics © EMBARK MUSIC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Spin Bout U

You gotta motherf*ckin' feel this shit, boy
(BanBwoi)
Whoa

I got feelings for you
Hope you ain't lovin' the crew
How many bodies you got?
Pray it ain't more than a few
Know that you dealt with some lames
When you was young and in school
He had to pop your cherry
But I got it wet like a pool
She got a new G-Wag'
She wanna hit Highlight Room and show it off
Got a new body, girl, show it off
This a Brazilian, I know it's soft
Toned up and she got a six-pack
Look like she used to play volleyball
American Express, you can have it all
Code to the safe, you can have it all
F*ck your main page, what's your Finsta? I wanna know the real you
You started dancin' to pay your tuition, girl, I wanna know what you been through
You want a boutique or you wanna sell hair, just let me know what you into
If you out in public and he want your number, just tell him, "My nigga'll spin you"

The way you make me feel these days
Somethin' gettin' dropped for you, baby girl
Smoke a nigga top for you, baby girl
Burn somebody block for you
The way you make me feel these days
Comin' out my body for you, baby girl
Wipe him like he snotty for you, baby girl
Comin' out my body for you

Damn, just turned on the news and seen that men who never got pussy in school
Are makin' laws about what women can do
I gotta protect ya, I'm a made man, tied in, all the way, baby
So I gotta respect ya
Niggas put hands on you in the past, insecure because your body is pressure
Four words when I think about them is crusty, musty, dusty, rusty
Eight words when I think about us is f*ck me, f*ck me, f*ck me, f*ck me
Disrespect ya and I'll smack 'em
The texts that you send in captions
The videos we got ever leak, we goin' viral or goin' platinum
Don't worry 'bout your friend's story when I had her alone
She gon' try and put some extras on it, take you out of your zone
You know how it goes when they can't get a reservation up in Carbone
They gon' tell you it's a chill night, tell you how they'd rather stay home, yeah
Jealous-ass hoes, yeah
And I know what I said 'bout bein' in Vogue
But just like that R&B group from the '90s
Girl, one call, I'll get you in Vogue
One call, you in runway shows
One call, I'm sittin' front row
One wrong call from your ex-nigga sayin' dumb shit'll get him sent home
One call and my niggas ten toes
Down to go wherever I say go
Even if we gotta travel 'cross the globe
Down to take it to the end of the road, for real

The way you make me feel these days
Somethin' gettin' dropped for you, baby girl
Smoke a nigga top for you, baby girl
Burn somebody block for you
The way you make me feel these days
Comin' out my body for you, baby girl
Wipe him like he snotty for you, baby girl
Comin' out my body for you

Want ya, I want-want ya
Oh, your lovin' so deep (feelin' so deep)
Want ya, I want-want ya
Give me your lovin' (feelin' so deep)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Dwayne Armstrong, Marquell Ushon Jones, Noah James Shebib, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Tenaia Sanders
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Hours In Silence

Leave your phone, come to mine
You'll catch a hand in due time
I think, think that I
Could f*ck the idea of him outta your mind
You said he rap, he ain't signed, that ain't a good sign
Change your mind, good conversation and some rosé wine
Unless there's some other things you gotta mind
You're my baby, ayy, ayy
The smoke got me talkin' in Dutch
A pill in Ibiza, so what?
She leanin' on me, I'm her crutch
She creamin' on me, I'm her crush
Her photos don't need a retouch
She askin' why haven't I nut
I didn't know we in a rush
Enjoyin' the moment, so hush
My album was payin' her bills
I don't even need a deluxe
Her stomach is flat as f*ck
She still fit that shit in her gut somehow
The fat must've went in her butt somehow
I don't even ask her what's up
She sayin' that shit is natural
Don't care if she makin' it up
I never put you in no Uber, girl
I'm always gon' send you a truck
I'm always gon' keep it a buck
You give me that shit and I'm stuck

.30 on my waist
'Cause a lotta broke niggas 'round the way ridin' 'round town
And they lookin' for my face
Gotta pray to God above you, girl, you know that Savage love you
And I hope that you feel the same
Tryna be the one for you, but my nickname true
And I hope that I can change
Girl, you know that Savage love you, girl, you know that Savage love you

Gotta turn my bitch up, turn my bitch up
Turn my bitch up, turn my bitch up
Turn my bitch up, turn my bitch up
Turn my bitch up, turn my-
Know I gotta turn my bitch up, turn my bih, T-T
Turn my bih, T-T, turn my bih
Gotta turn my bitch up, turn my- (ayy)

I gotta stop goin' Van Cleef, condo, third week
I like it, but I'm too geeked, tryna turn you up
I gotta stop goin' Lenci', Rollie, first week
You're misreadin' me, I'm too geeked, tryna turn you up
You were lost until me
I didn't get no finder's fee
You're actin' like a bride-to-be
Behind closed doors, slimin' me
Friends are all advisin' me
Sayin' I could die tryna turn you up
There's three sides to this story, girl
The one you subtweet
The one your group chat gets to read
The one you come and tell to me
I understand it finally
I'm tryna give you highs and you're plannin' our goodbyes
But I turn you up
It's my fault
Burnin' cash like it's lit on fire
Penthouse and some new attire
I fulfilled all of your desires
You don't work, but you act retired
'Cause you know that you're mine and it's my fault
It's my fault, it's my fault, for once I take accountability
It's my fault that you got superpowers on your knees
It's my fault for once, don't keep you grounded on your feet
It's my fault for once, I drain accounts to make you love me
It's my fault for once, it's one-sided loyalty
My fault for once, I'm payin' lawyer fees
Doin' things just to set you free, see you breathe
It's my fault for once, I got the Wagon, G
Got you ridin' 'round with niggas that are nothin' like me
It's my fault for once, that's how you make it seem
It's my fault, it's my fault

You were lost until me
You were lost until me, mm-mm, mhm-mm
You were lost until me

My confidence is super low
Baby M, you know I got a heart of gold
You pawned that shit and hit the road, baby
For goodness sakes, at this rate
Your funeral is finna have like ten caskets on display
One for you, the other nine for everything you're takin' to the grave
You don't play, you don't, you don't, you don't, you
You don't play no games
There's three things I learned from love for free
Only thing really worth chasin' is a dream
People don't know we play roles on screen
Messy, started gettin' trendy, gotta keep it clean
You know I keep it clean
Clean as I can
All weapons formed against me gotta jam
Brought you 'round the dawgs, treat you like the fam'
Shoulda been a wham, bam, thank you ma'am
Know you got my confidence on sale
Case you wanna feel better 'bout yourself

You were lost until me
You were lost until me
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Ashanti Guerrero, Aubrey Drake Graham, Cole Morie, Noah James Shebib, Noel Cadastre, Nyan Lieberthal, Paul D Beauregard, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Treacherous Twins

Yeah, uh
Yeah

You my treacherous lil' twin, and you know that we locked in
And I love you like my kin, it's whatever for you
I go up and down that road, I go anywhere you go
When you tell me life is good, I want better for you (yeah)

You my twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin

Yeah, f*ck what they say
F*ck what they- (uh, yeah), f*ck what they- (uh, yeah)
F*ck what they say
Five hundred million out the face, feel like KK
And I know the city that we from not a safe place
But I know you ridin' with your twin 'til we fade away
We used to have nothin' to our names, still had great days
Always kept me umbrellaed up when the rain came
You tell me you want somethin', I would tell you, "Same, same"
Now when we come through inside this bitch they gotta make way
Twistin' up my fingers for my twin
You was always on go for the drama, dawg
I would toe tag somebody for your mama, dawg
And they block disappeared, that's some karma, dawg
You say you a dawg, then ruff, nigga, I'm a dawg
When I need a friend, you my best friend
When I need a friend, you my only friend (yeah)

You my twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin (what?)
When I need a friend, you my only friend

Who can I depend on like you? No one (what?)
In the bed, she get wicked, with her parents she be wholesome (whoa)
I don't show ID at clubs, 'cause they know that I'm 21 (whoa, 21)
Who would do the things we do for each other? Nigga, no one (whoa)
Would you die for me?
Would you go at niggas necks like a tie for me?
Do the time for a crime you didn't do for me?
Or do a crime at a time when it was loose for me?

I wanna tell you how I feel when I'm loaded (oh)
I would lay somethin' down for you
I'll clear a whole town for you
Spray the whole hundred round for you
Twistin' all my fingers for my dawg

You my treacherous lil' twin, and you know that we locked in
And I love you like my kin, it's whatever for you
I go up and down that road, I go anywhere you go
When you tell me life is good, I want better for you (yeah)

You my twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
You my twin, you my treacherous lil' twin
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Elgin Lumpkin, Linda Creed, Matthew Jehu Samuels, Melvin Lee Barcliff, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Thom Randolph Bell, Timothy Z. Mosley
Copyright: Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Circo Loco

One more-

I been blowin' through the money like it grow on trees
I been f*ckin' on a French bitch, c'est la vie
I just put 'em on a jet, now they all Italian
Way I'm dressin' tell I been to a thousand islands
This bitch lie 'bout gettin' shots, but she still a stallion
She don't even get the joke, but she still smilin'
Every night late night like I'm Jimmy Fallon
Cro shoot from anywhere like he Ray Allen
Crodie, turn me up
Crodie, turn me up
Crodie, turn me up
Got a fur on in Tampa, got me burnin' up
Shorty say she graduated, she ain't learn enough
Play your album, track one, 'kay, I heard enough
Girl, the driver downstairs, better hurry up
Savage got a new stick he wanna dirty up
Touch down in NY, tear the Mercer up (one more)
Ayy, Bottega shades with the grey tints
Introduce me to a nigga, yeah, it make sense
Gotta put her on the team, got a great bench
Linkin' with the opps, bitch, I did that shit for J Prince
Bitch, I did it for the mob ties
Feel like seventeen, two Percs, frog eyes
And I never been the one to go apologize
Me, I'd rather hit 'em up one more time
Ayy, known a girl for six months, dinner up at my place
But I got these diamonds on my neck, so it's a blind date
All my niggas on the roads raisin' up the crime rate
Your name not rin'in' out here, it's on vibrate
And she took a score, now shorty gotta hydrate
And he did some dirt, now my crodie gotta migrate
Prolly won't see him for some years, when I do, though (one more)
Turn me up
Crodie, turn me up
Crodie, turn me up
Ayy, crodie, turn me
Ayy, yeah, what?
Crodie, turn me, what?

(21) In a droptop Benz like it's '03
(21) Had the shooters aim down from the nosebleeds
(21) Gotta get this passport, keep my nose clean
Bitch tried to burn me up
Keep a Magnum tucked (yeah)
I'll never slip (never)
SF90 rims red like a poker chip (pussy)
Rich as hell, still hood, in the Stroker's VIP (pussy)
Pink slip in the glove for the ownership (21)
Limpin' with the .30 on like a broke hip (21)
Red flag givin' blood on some donor shit (on God)
All the opps get a bullet on some Oprah shit (one more)
Went from Angell Town Estates to a big estate
Prolly woulda had a zombie on me if I woulda stayed (21)
Still a caught a case if I woulda stayed (facts)
I've been thuggin' all my life, that's just how I play it (facts)
Still posted in the A where niggas feel me
Still gotta see the Gunners win Premier League (21)
Still gotta keep a gun that's always near me
And I'm down to hit 'em up

One more time
Hit my line, you know that head was great
Oh, yeah, alright, don't do romancin'
One more time, you gotta run the face
Oh, yeah, alright
One more time

One more-
One more-
One more time
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Anthony Moore, Aubrey Drake Graham, Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Guy Manuel De Homem Christo, Matthew Jehu Samuels, Miles Parks McCollum, Noah James Shebib, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Thomas Bangalter
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, REACH MUSIC PUBLISHING, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Pussy & Millions

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Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher






Broke Boys

Yeah, ayy
Hop in that bitch and I start the V
Snakes in the grass so they harder to see
My brother would give up his life to the O
He told me he'll go be a martyr for me
Said that she ready to come to the 6ix
I hit up Pauleen, the charter, the P
Ain't really leave but I'm back in (back in)
I'm back in (back in), I'm back in (back in)
I'm ridin' around in Atlanta with Sav'
'Cause that nigga been goin' harder than me
Nothin' had changed, I'm just harder to please
Ferrari is makin' an SUV
We ain't got a choice, we orderin' these
Shout out Noel for recordin' the V's

He know where this shit 'bout to go, 'cause nobody touchin' the flow
They say you alone at the top, but it's gotta be lonely below
You boys gettin' ready to diss, but don't even mention the O
And don't even mention a foe unless you boys tryna go broke

Whoa, I got more stripes than Adidas
(Yeah, I got the stripes, but f*ck Adidas, nigga)
I don't chase bitches, I leave 'em
(Hoes screamin' like I'm Justin Bieber, nigga)
I don't get mad, I get even
(Hit you niggas like a buzzer beater, nigga)
I don't get mad, I get even
(Hit you niggas then you gone)
Whoa, all that foundation she wearing, she think she QC
Tellin' all my sneaky links you with me
You must be Coach K 'cause you ain't P
I'm on a Jet like my last name Li
Two sticks in my hand like I'm playin' the Wii
G Block Babies will spank you for free
We rough niggas up, now they beggin' for peace (G Block Babies)
Steppin' on shit, I done fractured my toe
Born in October, I'm so OVO
Halloween come and he wanna dress up
But he don't need no costume, I'm turnin' him ghost
She called me mucus, I stay in her throat
Stick hit that boy, got his ass hittin' notes
My niggas wear masks so

You know where this shit 'bout to go, 'cause nobody touchin' the flow
They say you alone at the top, but it's gotta be lonely below
You boys gettin' ready to diss, but don't even mention the O
And don't even mention a foe unless you boys tryna go broke

Ah damn, man, you niggas is the worst
Savage snatch you out ya crib, then drop you in a hearse
Baby, please, when we nervous, stop reachin' in your purse
Nigga went and bought a house when he coulda bought a verse
Niggas dumb as f*ck, imagine if I did that stupid shit when I was comin' up
My crib feel like a hedge fund, I be in here just thumbin' up
Know I'm SN1, 'til I'm done f*ckin' London up
Niggas make me nauseous, I had enough of broke boys
I can't talk to broke boys, yeah, I can't talk to broke boys
I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to broke boys, wait, yeah
I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to broke boys, wait
All you niggas make me sick, wait
All you niggas rappin' 'bout the bricks and the licks
Then I hear in real life you livin' with your bitch
I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to broke boys
I can't talk to broke boys
I don't want no convo, I don't got no time for
Niggas postin' mansion, livin' in a condo
Y'all be make believin', I cannot relate to you
I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to broke boys
I cannot believe y'all was dissin' on the old boy
I can't even think on how you came up with that flow, boy
Please talk to someone else 'cause I can't talk to broke boy
I can't talk to broke boy, I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to broke boys
I can't talk to broke boys, nah, nah, I can't talk to broke boys, I can't talk to

That nigga's crazy
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Abraham Herrera, Aubrey Drake Graham, Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Rafael Brown, Sheyaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, Wesley Tyler Glass
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Middle of the Ocean

Yeah
I'm in the Missoni room at the Byblos
The boat was rockin' too much on some Aaliyah shit
For real
We goin' from the Vava Cinquante-Cinq, then back to the Vava
If you know, you know, baby, I don't, I don't know what to tell you
Yeah
Ayy

Look
Long way from Sette Mezzo
Meet Tommaso and Ernesto
Short rigatoni with the pesto
These verses are my manifesto
Hallways got an echo
Me and Smigs on the loose in the city, you know how the rest go
Casual sex, I'm like, "F*ck a dress code"
The first martini is an espresso
Chill shot glasses with prosecco
Niggas so ignorant in our hood, they be like, "Why the f*ck you makin' techno?"
I'm worldwide and this is just another cargo jet flow, I had to let go
Life insurance policies, you niggas 'bout to need the gecko
I got some meaner threats, though
Me, Spider-Man, and Leonardo, I'm back tomorrow
I had the chopper to a wedding out in Monaco or Monte Carlo
I'm losin' track of where we all go
I wouldn't trade my life for none of y'alls, it's an embargo
Fifty-nine bags on the 767, this is heavy cargo
Yeah
Fifty-nine bags on the-, ayy
Swedish jail cell smellin' like some Carby Musk
For your birthday, your boyfriend got a party bus
Bottle signs, club lines, should've come with us
We left that shit in '09 when we was comin' up
I mean, these just my suggestions of course
Em Rata here fresh off divorce
And I'm tryna look in her eyes, maybe express my remorse
If she wanna rebound with me, I'm down to go get her some boards
I'm here for the moral support
Whippin' the Vespa off of six tequilas
Big Benjamins like the Pittsburgh Steelers
Drake, you got it
Robert Kraft sent the jet for us, that shit was patriotic
You would think we live in Baltimore, the way they ravin' 'bout the latest product
Teachin' niggas how to mind they business, and my latest stuff
Might be the only teacher that gets paid enough
That's why I'm in Hyde Park buyin' like half of Harrods
You niggas are too concerned with makin' sure your outfits gon' match in Paris
If we don't like you, you payin' tax and tariffs
Come to the 6 and I'm like the actin' sheriff, deputy
First got to America, niggas wouldn't check for me
No chance the kid'll make it here like vasectomy
They underestimated my trajectory
But now they gotta pay that shit direct to me
I send the label bills, bills, bills like the other two women standing next to Bey
That shit was just-
Independent women is lovin' the new appearance
Matter of time before I go net a Bey like a Paris
Like, "Honey, you gotta know that I never wore Mike Amiris or never hopped in a Urus"
I got my head in the clouds, I'm serious
The lyrics begin to reveal themselves over time periods
Promise you'll get that shit when the sky clears
This shit designed for divine ears
My favorite two words from you white boys is, "Sign here"
And then comes the sound of glass clinkin' from a wine, cheers
Swear I'm pocket checkin' y'all for five years
And then we 'bout to kick this shit in high gear
Eight karats like vegetarians, nigga, the earrings are droopy
Contract Lord of the Rings, think it's a script for the movie
Shout out TVGUCCI, my cousin is spooky
I swear you don't even mean what y'all say like y'all dubbin' a movie
Sidebar, Serena, your husband a groupie
He claim we don't got a problem but
No, boo, it is like you comin' for sushi
We might pop up on 'em at will like Suzuki
Kawasaki, sushi, saké, the money grow on trees like shiitake
They tried to get spicy with me, so I wonder how they gon' stop me
I'm really on a roll like hamachi
The f*ck would y'all really do without me?
For your birthday, your man got a table at Hibachi
Last time I ate there, Wayne was doin' numbers off the cup like Yahtzee
And Paris Hilton was steady duckin' the paparazzi
Quavo might've sent me a song that he called "Versace"
I really can't remember it properly
All I know is that God got me, I'm sittin' on large properties
Treat me like a newborn, Lucian not droppin' me
I'm goin' Pink Floyd, you niggas cannot rock with me
She could be givin' me head and somehow you not toppin' me
Niggas see the 6ix God pass, they high-fivin' me
Need to be high-sixin' me
Swear niggas highkey sick of me
They wifey on my head 'cause I vibe differently
Feel like an AMBER Alert the way that I can take her to the mall and she find Tiffany
I'm like a cup holder the way that these dimes stick to me
They should've been in the fountain based on what y'all wishin' me

I'm sayin'
Yeah
Million-dollar spot (brr, brr)
Ask them motherf*ckers how CMB play it
Middle of the ocean (blatt)
Just like that (shine, shine)
All dark fresh green water
Land that thing
With 'bout a hundred hoes
We up and we livin' like that, boy
Fresh, fly, fresh like, you understand me, like, real G shit
You heard me? A neighborhood superstar
It's bigger than anything
You know, start from the bottom, then we come to the top
Get to the top and we stay up there
You hear me? (Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball)
We look down and we'll be down, but we stayin' up
And we rise up, we stay on 'em, you heard me? (Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball)
Big Florida water, big water ocean
On that type of time
You understand me?
Rich nigga, rich life, you understand me?
Come from the bottom, but we come from the bottom (rich life)
But we understand the bottom 'cause we come from it
And we live with it (you understand?)
Go to our grave 'bout this here, boy (yeah, yeah, yeah)
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Cameron Giles, Darryl Pittman, Joseph Jones, Kenneth Gamble, Laron L. James, Leon Huff, Louis Vincent Leibfried, Nik Dejan Frascona, Noel Cadastre, Ozan Yildirim, Tim Friedrich
Copyright: Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC, Spirit Music Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






Jumbotron Shit Poppin

(Wake up, F1LTHY)
Yeah

We ain't even out in Turks, she finna take sand
Ridin' 'round with F&N, we like to hold hands (Oogie Mane he killed it)
Boat was too sipped out, he ain't leave the bed
Damn near dipped a pint of Tech in a Code Red
If I tell this bitch to pull up, she gon' moped it
My dawgy, don't smoke on shit unless it's unleaded
I don't back and forth over no net, so just go on and dead it
See me when you see me, if it's smoke, dawgy, unleash it

Thick Moroccan bitch, this my fav', I'ma go on and beat it
Lookin' in the mirror, kiss my face, I'm too conceited
Send a girl home, call another, dawg, I'm too slime
She ain't wanna eat it on her first day, it's haram
I don't f*ck with drugs, poppin' X for the first time
That shit kicked in, like a two-time world champ
Booted up, that shit hit up and downs, like a skate-ramp
She vapin' in my room, that shit lit up like a glow-lamp
Who want smoke? Okay, cool, it's they whole camp
Big shit poppin', we the ones to get your shirt damp
Niggas try to take a nigga spot, now it's too cramped
Up, 8 AM, geekin' hard, I'm a real vamp
These niggas got me f*cked up, dawg, I'm too amped
Hmm-hmm, make this bitch lick me like a mail stamp
Hmm-hmm, strapped up, f*ck it, I'ma die lit
Too slime, posted at the crib in a snake pit
Every time I tell you how I feel, I don't fake shit
Brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt (bih)
Brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt, okay
Everybody got a stick, we don't run fades

We ain't even out in Turks, she finna take sand
Ridin' 'round with F&N, we like to hold hands (Oogie Mane he killed it)
Boat was too sipped out, he ain't leave the bed
Damn near dipped a pint of Tech in a Code Red
If I tell this bitch to pull up, she gon' moped it
My dawgy, don't smoke on shit unless it's unleaded
I don't back and forth over no net, so just go on and dead it
See me when you see me, if it's smoke, dawgy, unleash it
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Daniele Gagliardi, Guley Bahar Dilara Sincer, Jeremiah James Raisen, Jordan T. Ortiz, Kevin Gomringer, Miles Parks Mccollum, Noah James Shebib, Richard Ortiz, Simon Gaudes, Tim Gomringer
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






More Ms

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Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher






3AM on Glenwood

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I Guess Its F*ck Me

You said f*ck me, and I was like, "Cool"
So now what's the problem?

Don't go hiding again
Tired of asking where you been
You left so abruptly
I guess it's f*ck me
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Before it's over
I need you to come over once again
And before you give me closure
Need you to come a little bit closer

Still steppin' like Omega Psi Phi for mine
If bein' real was a crime, I'd be doin' life
Like that nigga not nice, I don't know polite
I'm the first ever antisocial socialite
The pain that I seen in my mother's eyes in 2009
Have me workin' 'til it's 2049
And get hate when I tell you, "Oh, some other time"
Like I really got some other time
You just tell me, "Never mind"
Know I sound crazy to a lazy mind
Know it'll be a different kind
Shout out to the people workin' nine to five
I be workin' nine to nine
And the six upside down, it's a nine
You already know the vibe
And they leave 'cause of pride, but they comin' back every time
The devils that I recognize, most of them got pretty eyes
Titties and some plans of just gettin' by, that's the way they live or die
Easy to judge, but, girl, who am I?
Truth or dare, I'ma take a double dare
Truth is a suicide
I would rather live a lie, keep you on the outside
Introduce you to the guys
Have you throwin' up the south side like you're one of mine
But you're not one of mine
You belong to everybody else when you're bored in your free time
Shit could make a thug cry, play it like a tough guy
Couldn't even land in the Hamptons, they didn't have the stairs for the shit I fly
Swear it's like a metaphor, I can't even get down from the shit I climb
Can't even get down from the shit I climb
Yeah, girl, you're my size
Make me tell you one time
We was on the front line, shit was in my bloodline
Waitin' for the sunshine
But the sun never shines on me, on me
Sleepin' in the whip sometimes, girl, I was sleepin' upright
Henny, red cup life, broski kept it tucked tight
Niggas talkin' bare shit about what they gon' do to mine
Aw, now their tongues tied
We was smokin', watched the sun climb
I would trap until my thumbs cried
Tryna change it all in one line
Never seen a thug cry
Love, it's been a long time
Bet you never seen a thug cry
Hit me on my hotline
And no, ma, I'm not fine at all

Don't go hiding again
Tired of asking where you been
You left so abruptly
I guess it's f*ck me
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Before it's over
I need you to come over once again
And before you give me closure
Need you to come a little bit closer
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

Writer: Aubrey Drake Graham, Douglas Ford, Patrick Rosario, Shivam Barot
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.






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