African king lyrics

[Intro]
Yeah

[Chorus]
Got too much swag, I don’t know what I want
I mismatch all this sh*t when I want
Pop the tag off this b*tch if I want it
I can pass on a b*tch I don’t want it
I got racks now these b*tches started coming

[Verse 1]
Show in France, I got hoes out in London
Show was packed, had these hoes showing titties
Out of state, yeah, I don’t miss my city, city
You ain’t safe, have a shootout at Lenox
You diss me in my state got it litty, litty
They be stealing the swag I invented, 'vented
I got racks in these Rick Owens denim, denim
Had the stick in the bag and they swore I was gay
The Dior too tight, might not fit up in 'em
Got this b*tch in the back and she giving me face
Hmm, I’ll try not to send a picture
All these hoes love the coke, all these hoes off the yay
Yeah, they got blow in they face
Got this hoe on her knees and she not tryna pray
Yeah, this hoe giving me brain
[Verse 2]
And yeah this life could get surreal, yeah it’s like I live in a daze
My brother swiping every meal, I don’t remember the last time we paid
Lil Dior still don’t got no deal, I might just shoot-out a v8
Hoes everywhere, I got hoes showing cake
My b*tch a ten, yeah my b*tch serving face
Play with her kitty, she like my nail paint
We at the Whitney, the Ritz been outdated
Smoking Gelato 41 got me faded
I’m in the crib in the hills this b*tch gated
All of these hoes want my di*k I’m invading
My eyes bloodshot like I’m zim, no invader
They see the swag, bite the style on a daily
I think it’s cool, bite my style while it pay me
I’m their dad, put them down like my baby
I just spent two thou on my baby
The Moncler on her hair look amazing
Give the world to this b*tch, I’m debating

[Chorus]
Got too swag, I don’t know what I want
I mismatch all this sh*t when I want
Pop the tag off this b*tch if I want it
I could smash on a b*tch If I wanna

[Verse 3]
Fly to France, I got hoes out in London
I got racks, I got racks, and I got some more coming
I got hoes dropping pants by the press of a button
And this b*tch pus*y bald head like Joe Budden
And I’m mixing up Balmains like I’m Ye
That boy got a problem shoot him in his face
My hoe got a problem, I don’t go on dates
Turn a hoe into a boss b*tch and give her wings
This sh*t not over till the fat lady sing
Imma bend her over she don’t complicate things
Stop calling me Jehovah, I’m the African king
And she like “Damn Jehovah, he the man of my dreams”