Tory Lanez


Saint Laurent we poppin' 'til the bands go
Count it up with numbers in the bando
My young n*ggas countin' bands to this (Yeah, yeah)

My dawg boys countin' bands to this
My lil' shooter countin' bands to this
We gon' get this money that's the plan, ya dig
Them f*ck n*ggas 'ready know what it is
.40 on my waist I can't dance to this
I just hold the corner and I slang to this
Can't no b*tch f*ck up the plans to this
No I don't cop, unless you dance, ya dig

Pull up we careless, whippin' the 'Rari, diamonds colliding
You with a bad b*tch, she don't know me, n*gga doubt it
I put a b*tch in pilates, I'ma fly her to Bahamas
f*ck a bad b*tch one day, man next day got an Audi
Young n*ggas and we wildin', rich n*ggas they be ridin'
My bad b*tches making plans to this
Why the trap n*ggas weighin' grams to this?
Take a flight to fly back to the yams, ya dig
Hit a corner hustle me a Lamb, ya dig
We sippin' X till we can stand this sh*t
Wake up at the [?] with a Spanish b*tch
Last night filmin' like a Spanish flick
Got it on my shirt, I'm like damn you did
Throwin' 36 on the fishscale
Forty-fifth for my hip make your b*tch tell, uh
'Cause we poppin' on the yams, ya dig
Came up from the bottom to the bands, ya dig
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