Word To Yams lyrics

[Intro: J.R. Donato]
Uh
Look
Ayy

[Verse 1: J.R. Donato]
Run up my check, I want money so tall that I think I can sit on it
No I'm not Glizzy, I'm totin' the glizzy, that b*tch got the di*k on it
Pull out my di*k and your nasty lil hoe, no, she won't put her lips on it
Pump with the grip on it
After I grip on it, ho' come and sit on it
Daydreaming suckin' my di*k
I'm that highly remembered, she take it and kiss on it
Heard the lil n*ggas was talkin' about robbin'
But how? When I got the stick on me
Easy when I got the tip on me
Muddy, yeah, I got the sip on me
Easily .30 my clip, homie
Nudie my jeans while I sh*t on 'em

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
n*gga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my di*k, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah
[Verse 2: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, boy, I'm off this gas
My phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas
Aye, these cops on my ass
Dirty kitchen, dirty cash
Cash Carti, money bags
Yeah, ho, I keep a sack
Got a cup filled with act, I'm a real ass n*gga
40 clip with the strap
Blow a n*gga off the map
Blowing Backwoods in the trap, ay
Uh, n*gga talkin' down, boy, my n*ggas spray

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
n*gga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my di*k, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah

[Verse 3: J.R. Donato]
I got the bag and I keep a stash, when I need the cash, I dig in it
Taylors in here, we get high as skyscrapers and that's every time we be kickin' it
Well-put-together, them hoes say this sh*t articulate, ain't it so sick, isn't it?
Busy and Charlie, I'm whippin' it, sauce I be drippin' it, come take a dip in it
[Verse 4: Playboi Carti]
She a scene ho, it's all good though
Pull down my pants, oh, don't use your hands, woah
I heard about you, girl, you heard about me too
You heard I got them bands, I heard that mouth for food

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
n*gga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my di*k, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no b*tch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah