Leaving The Lot Video (MV)

Gallery Dept. all down to my socks
On a three-level yacht with some bottles of drank
Leavin' the lot on the way to the bank
Leavin' the lot on the way to the bank
Big body smell like a pound of Gelatti
I made a pit stop, put some 'za in my tank
Her Birkin bag hold a Biscotti
My bitch got a natural body, it's not what you think

Switchin' my vehicles, switchin' my lo'
I'm not trickin' on hoes, I'm just tippin' my driver
Find me a plug out of town with the gas, I'ma cop me a bag, set the city on fire
Crossin' the border with Dora Explorer, my cocaine whiter than Lizzie McGuire
Dog in the cell with a miniature Bible
Brodie didn't tell, so I sent him a wire
Cocaine whiter than Jennifer Lawrence, the heroin Michael B. Jordan, it's tan
Eight hundred horses inside of the motor, I pull up on niggas, it sound like the Klan
We got a spot in the ceiling where we be hidin' work and the pills, just unscrew the fan
Curbside pickup just like Walmart Shopping Center, thank you, come again
Flippin' the Bentley, got tired of my chauffeur, I gave him a day off of work, get some rest
I need a Drake type of deal at the minimum, hundred M's, we finna purchase a jet
Boss Hogg Outlaw, serve and collect, big 30 on me in a purplish 'Vette
I really got rich off Percocets, I bet Soulja Boy Tell 'Em ain't the first at that
Ridin' in the S65 and it's sixty degrees, I need me a turtleneck
Google myself, I'm worth a check
You can hate on me, but the shit just ain't gon' work, it's gon' be the reverse effect
Maybach rear end, curtains eject
Penthouse high where the turbulence at
You broke, I hear you allergic to racks
I might boat up and go burgundy 'Lac
She say I'm ungrateful 'cause I made her take all the Burberry back
Sippin' on drank, I'm gettin' purposefully fat
My money real neat, it be perfectly stacked
Nigga, you wouldn't wanna walk in my shoes
Or put on my clothes, my shirt is a rack
Sellin' blue jeans like we workin' at Saks
Push a new Bentley, I blew out my motor
Servin' my daddy, now I'm a lil' older
Neighbors got mad, they complained 'bout the odor
Rockin' chinchilla, it chill on my shoulders
Save all the shake and pay rent with the overs
The blues go for forty-two in Dakota
Find out she stealin' my money, I'ma choke her
Ridin' in the back of the Benz like Oprah

Gallery Dept. all down to my socks
On a three-level yacht with some bottles of drank
Leavin' the lot on the way to the bank
Leavin' the lot on the way to the bank
Big body smell like a pound of Gelatti
I made a pit stop, put some 'za in my tank
Her Birkin bag hold a Biscotti
My bitch got a natural body, yeah

Every day we can go eat Mr. Chow, sometimes I sit back and just eat me some noodles
Ridin' with the girl and the boy in the back, if the police pull over the car, it's a Uber
Regular in your cigar, it's a hookah
Yellow bitch washin' my car with a loofah
Flyin' in a rocket, I doubt they gon' nuke us
Ran up my guap and went bought a bazooka (Big Money Missions)