Poetry lyrics

[Intro]
Like, huh, hold on, huh

[Verse]
Let the Lab chain swing but this b*tch a trophy
We the motherf*cking reason Apple got a sh*t emoji
Bae rock Christian Dior so my b*tch is holy
Looking like December twenty-fifth, all these giffies on me
Think you finna play with my pape'? You would die for that
Bro'll wet yo f*cking tee up like a laundromat
I ain't talking 'bout no seat belt but I ride with straps
Lemon Cherry stuffed in the 'Wood, b*tch, Tron is smacked
Feel like Tropicana, got the juice off of punching sh*t
Funny I got four burners on me in the Oven Mitt
We ain't even beefing, buddy mad that I humped his b*tch
She don't ask what I'm doing, b*tch know I'm thumbing strips
b*tch thinking it's a spacecraft, it's a AMG
Empty-ass soul, ain't no love or no hate in me
Off-White X on my shirt, this a racist tee
She wanna give her heart, made yo b*tch give her face to me
Trackhawks, Hellcats, you ain't racing me
If it's up then my baby sending sh*t to the gates for me
I be dogging n*ggas' hoes, ain't no taming me
Fan stopped me in the mall, my b*tch saying, "It's the fame for me"
If I get a mill' today, b*tch, me and gang breaking even
I should bring a f*cking bed in that b*tch, how I stay in Neiman's
Lil' bro'll pop yo ass just because, he can't tame his demons
I just hit the booth and sh*t talk, you would think my anus speaking
Bro sip expensive, on his Wock' in the Simply sh*t
Four pockets full but my heart on some empty sh*t
Chill day, still stepping out in some crispy sh*t
I don't know if she believe me or not, on some Ripley sh*t
For me, it's a giffy trip, unc' making brickies flip
This some Off-White, f*ck I look like in di*kie drip?
Hunnid rounds in this lil' b*tch, this the Mickey stick
With all that lil' sh*t, no cap, you can miss me, b*tch
If you my dawg, you my dawg, boy, I got yo back
.762s flip his ass like a acrobat
All that sh*t you be rapping 'bout, put a cap on that
Let his ho ever say it's up, we gon' act on that
Drawing plays up for them bills, feel like Belichick
She can be yo lil' b*tch, I'm still getting hella neck
Balenciagas on, boy, that's 10K in seven steps
Tryna throw a fist? That's gon' land you in Heaven, neph'
Yeah, Supreme tee with the liver, looking like an organ donor
Red bottoms for my b*tch, boy, ain't no Jordans on her
Three-five after three-five, gang more than stoners
Since he playing with his f*cking life, get it shortened on him
Pull up on my opps, wave a stick like it's sorcery
Green beams and white lows, boy, that's the force in me
You could see a damn biscuit, boy, you ain't horsing me
They say I'm sh*t talking but to me, this sh*t poetry