Way 2 Sexy lyrics

[Intro: Adin Ross]
Look
Okay, look
Check
I’m, too sexy for this-
Hold on
Too sexy for-
Hold on I gotta catch this sh*t
Alright, look
Look, look

[Chorus: Adin Ross & Cordae ]
I’m, too sexy for this beat ( Uh)
I’m 'bout to beat his, no ( Uh)
I’m not about to do that sh*t
I’m 'bout to spit some sh*t
I’m 'bout to talk my sh*t
I’m 'bout to f*ck yo’ b*tch ( Uh)
I’m 'bout to go crazy ( Uh)
Lilo no Stitch
Uh-huh, I’m rich
I stack bread
I stack this sh*t, I go crazy and stack bricks (Yuh)
Look, I go crazy, I stack bricks
f*ck (Hold on, I got you, I got you, uh)
[Verse: Cordae & Adin Ross]
I'm with Adin Ross, I don't play the boss
She want titties, I'ma pay the cost
Buy her new clothes, take 'em off
And my di*k hard, tell 'em make it soft
I'm a real n*gga, I don't fake it all
Used to have dreams, f*cker playin' ball
We back to the topic, how I f*ckin' got it
I'm not ever tryna lose my train of thought
I'm a real n*gga but my father realer
Hit fifty M's, and I'ma cop a villa
And I was just talkin' with Quincy Jones
"Like what's goin' on?" Y'all droppin' Thriller
I'm a stack of cheese, n*gga, mozzarella
Hi-Level is the new Roc-A-Fella
Two years I'm headlinin' Coachella
How I [?] helicopter a propeller
I was raised by the local dope dealer
Need mo' skriller, I'm a cold killer in this sh*t (Woo)
Smoke good cannabis, keep a banana clip
I'm like a gorilla in this sh*t
[?] Egypt, around the pyramids
While the four wheelers in they sh*t
Y'all on that hate sh*t, on that fake sh*t
Like who mo' realer in this sh*t?
Ayy, woah, ayy, was just in Australia with Gunna
Little b*tch, we can have sex if you wanna
She poppin' X, I'm just on marijuana
Ayy, woah, ayy, woah, okay
I came, I saw, I conquered
Dealin' with a lot of sh*t like a plunger
Stay with some balls, n*gga, Willy Wonka
Ayy, got that advanced, I'ma f*ck up a cheque
Your favourite actress was suckin' my neck
Fifty-two, o-five, [?] protect
Stackin' my bread, I got tons to invest
Gotta thank God 'cause a n*gga is blessed
Every year I look more richer and sexy
Stackin' my millies, the riches is heavy
My album is comin', you n*ggas ain't ready
Like, woah, okay
Coupe cost a cool quarter mill'
My Lamborghini color orange teal
New crib paid by the tourin' deals
Took your favorite singer on a f*ckin' date
I'll still show up late like Lauryn Hill
Then I hit it good in my penthouse
Told her "Get out" like Jordan Peele
(Oh my god)
My pants saggin', my chain hangin'
[?] my main thang
But my next album'll sell a million copies
'Cause this lifestyle I gotta maintain
I got a million problems, plus a million dollars
I just had to spend it, get my n*ggas outta
f*ckin' prison, I ain't even trippin' 'bout it
'Cause if I got it, then my n*ggas got it
Like, all my dogs like Harold and Kumar
Bro girl opps convert out the Jumamah
New foreign b*tch she from Cuba
These ain't alligators, these Pumas
And I give a f*ck about a b*tch
And what she got to say, I can't address a rumor
Everything we do is high level
Go and buy bezels from the best jeweler
Plus my diamonds straight up outta Africa
They girls say she diggin' my vernacular
I be flippin' them sh*t like a spatula
She know I don't do nothing that's regular
Hold on, got a phone call on my cellular
I'm a pretty big deal, girl I'm tellin' ya
I done wrote more hits for Eric Bellinger
Keep the Tommy on me like Angelica
Ay, way too f*ckin' sexy for this shirt
I'm way too f*ckin' sexy for this shirt, (Bro) yeah, yeah
I'm way too muhf*ckin' sexy yeah
I'm way too muhf*ckin' sexy yeah
You f*ck with that junk?
(Dude what the-)