Lost With Miami lyrics

[Intro]
Ayy, yeah, spread them asscheeks, lemme lick that bootyhole

[Verse 1]
Lil’ freaky thot b*tch give me head while her baby ‘sleep
Funny rap bars; behind doors, n*ggas play for keeps
Want me pay for pus*y? b*tch, you childish like some baby teeth
I came up off SayCheese” but I ain’t signed to C’est La Vie
I cut leechin’ b*tches off—you gotta pay to eat
Caught a STD and gave it to my b*tch—could you pray for me?
Poured a six and drunk it by myself, I had to pay for sleep
Ayy, free Southwest T, Insha’Allah, we gotta pray for Meech
Droppin’ hit after hit, but this not a Verzuz
Licked her bootyhole and rub her clit, I bet she get to squirtin’
Pay a b*tch tuition, books, and bills before I buy ‘em purses
Same b*tches that said I was too fat—now them b*tches flirtin’
Remember sellin’ dope out that jimmy hat, a n*gga vampin’
After I bust a nut, b*tch, I’m hungry—go make me a sandwich
Pay to get a n*gga noodles blew while I’m in the Hamptons
Million-dollar deal fresh out of postal, word to Naji Grampus

[Hook]
I got Snapchat—you can’t get my number
Hella thugs in my clique—I feel like Wunna (Mm)
They got fake jewels: Brian Pumper
Got rich in six months, b*tch, I’m feelin’ like I’m Stunna
Independent, own my masters; record labels wanna penny me
You in her DM, beggin’; I’m in the middle like a centerpiece
I’m f*ckin’ bad b*tches now, but I used to stick my di*k in fiends
I text Offset and ask him: Can he plug me in with Hennessy?
[Verse 2]
They always askin’, “Packman, why you still workin’?”
That’s like askin’ a trap n*gga why he still servin’
I ain’t rich yet—I still feel I gotta put the work in
I get off tour to split routes with Myesha Murray
Nah, real sh*t—I really need to quit
n*ggas lyin’ in they rap, ain’t never seen a brick
Main b*tch caught my car at the hotel and she keyed my sh*t
I came out, body-slammed her on her head, then I kneed the b*tch
And I don’t feel bad, no cap—she gotta pay for that
My n*gga got a brick—he ‘bout to tap it: It’s a baby-back
She said that pus*y Gucci, but I hit it: “b*tch, this Baby Phat”
She say she celibate; legs stay open: Tyler Creator gap

[Hook]
I got Snapchat—you can’t get my number
Hella thugs in my clique, I feel like Wunna (Mm)
They got fake jewels: Brian Pumper
Got rich in six months, b*tch, I’m feelin’ like I’m Stunna

[Outro]
The Lunch Crew Company