Safe To Say (One Take) lyrics

[Intro: Producer Tag]
Whoa, Kenny

[Verse]
I make sixty racks in my sleep
Double that back, save half of the cash up
I just gave sixty back to my team
A.J. Tracey drip on the watch
Yeah, I call that sixty stack to A.P
Way too wavy, the boy won't stop like Aitch
Got sixty racks in my jeans
Bruddah, got sixty racks in my jeans (Whoo)
b*tch, please
I'ma slide like a Tokyo drifter
Get a b*tch high when she get in my ride
I'll American Pie that, boy going Stifler
Bruddah online with a very strong vibe
And the Henny on wine, so I slide that Insta
Bruddah don't lie, you thinking your sh*t good
Nah, see, you ain't due for this gas, f*ck Hitler
You're a sh*t c*nt, that's dirty
You wanna clash? This a smash-up derby
I ain't Shawn Mendes, you ain't getting mеrcy
French girls give me good brain, say, "Mеrci"
Little chick dirty, new chick thirsty
Triple 2-0 on a hoe, that's thirsty
I was on the grind since hashtag merky
The man united up in the van like Persie
What, what? Yeah, what, dog?
You get struck by thunder, Bon Scott
I was on the opp block, I was getting opp thots
Nah joke, I don't got the opps 'cause the opp block
I ain't lost prof', kept it in a locked box
So I got a thot in a Burberry crop top (Whoo)
Now everything I earn, brah, it's dosh-dosh
Bruddah, you ain't DaBaby, you not Bop
You're a soft c*ck (Skrrrrt)
I'm protecting my drive like bumpers
I ain't Stormzy, but unless 10K for the week
Brutha, we ain't gon' chat 'bout numbers
Let's draw strings, Hurtsville
Yeah, the hoodie's on top of your head
Brutha, I don't need jumpers
Talk money, the cheque come direct
East, West, North, South, give a f*ck for the compass
Yeah, damn right, yeah, damn right
D from the back of the box, the girl Van Dijk
You ain't on sh*t, you're sh*t just like a man dyke
You been on sh*t, less chicks than your 'Gram likes
Yeah, damn right, yeah, damn right
I don't give two f*cks what her man like
How he jump online with the hate sh*t
Then jump back online with a 'Gram? (Hahaha)
Like, I don't get all you online troll c*nts
I don't know how you sleep so well
Little raps minions, forty years old
And you're still a virgin, you're like a Steve Carrell
Your life, not mine, don't speak, don't tell
Too busy with your b*tch in a cheap hotel
Chicks want chicks and the chicks want di*ks
So the chick told chicks and the chicks just told
Everyone, bruddha, who's jealous of me
Getting this cheddar no better than me
Better be stressing, your girl going shopping
Then using your credit card; spending on me
Pay for the weed and she get it for free
The crazy lil' freak gimme head in the Jeep
Argh, sixty racks in my sleep, brah
Still saved up all the rest for the street
Wait, how the f*ck he this good?
Can't explain it, maybe the cadence
Maybe I'm patient, maybe I'm basic
Maybe I couldn't give a f*ck for the haters
Maybe I couldn't give a f*ck that I'm famous
On a M.I.A. with the paper planes
Blazing a J, brah, face it
It's 420 fam, brah, I blaze it