Fake Love lyrics

[Intro]
Young rich—
(Michigan Meech)
I'm a young rich bast*rd
I'm a young rich—
I'm a young rich bast*rd
I'm a young rich bast*rd

[Verse]
Why these n*ggas speaking on me like I asked for they opinion?
I can't argue with no n*gga unless he up a couple million
He out here tryna be a goon but don't even take care of his children
Everyday I wake up out my sleep, I make another million
n*ggas say they for the team, they only care about theyself
Sixty pairs of Amiri's and like twenty-five belts
n*ggas acting like I need 'em, they ain't never ever helped
I could put her on the court, or I could put her on the shelf
That clip real long, it hang off that chopper like a belt
This 'Wood real long, it'll take two hours by myself
Fake friends was around, I'd rather hang with myself
If she loyal cars, bags, and shoes come as well
I been loyal to everybody, I don't get it in return
n*gga switched just twice, it ain't his fault, I should've learned
n*gga playing both sides, he can't come back over here
I'm starting to think this n*gga jealous, it felt like that for years
I got nine pints here, sh*t, all of 'em virgins
The way you talk about this case, I swear, that sh*t make me nervous
Give a n*gga twenty shots to his chest 'cause he deserved
If I get a good b*tch she get whatever 'cause she earned
n*ggas stabbed me in my back but it was cool 'cause he ain’t shoot me
They outside playing 2K, we be playing Call Of Duty
Split my last with my n*ggas, now I don't want sh*t in return
You buying gifts, n*gga, and you just met her, you a nerd
Got a b*tch in Florida that I go and see when I get cold
Got a white and rose Cuban and I got white and rose
f*ck the clubs, in my closet it's eight thousand and Cologne
That n*gga body full of hate, he don't got a lawyer bond
Every day he taking pills, I think it's f*cking with his dome
I got some n*ggas down away who ain't leaving till it's gone
Sent some n*ggas on your block and they ain't leaving till you gone
Got some n*ggas on your block, they waiting on you to come home
Eight hundred horsepower shaking every block I'm on
I hate when you playing victim like I did something wrong
I'm a multi millionaire, I ain't gotta sell no more phones
I'm the real Mailman, somebody call Karl Malone
I got two seats in the coupe but three of ‘em coming home
Swear to God, this sh*t a movie, I be wishing I could clone
I put a four in my twenty ounce, now I think I'm Kobe
You can play my music all day but you'll never know
We’ll take you from your kids if you think you ‘bout to hoe me
[Outro]
We’ll take you—
Franchise
I'm a young rich—