Quite Frankly lyrics

[Intro: Trapland Pat]
Welcome back Blake
Xair lemme get that motherf*cker
Yeah (dududuh)

[Verse 1: Trapland Pat]
We cuttin' through the Bronx
Home runnin', think we with the Yankees
Raw paper, championship ring, I got it on my pinky
If you don't see Luh Tyler, and that Kosher, n*gga quite frankly
Trap went and ran them racks up, he just went dressin' janky

[Verse 2: Luh Tyler]
I'm in the booth, me and trap on that gas, man this sh*t stanky
Got your b*tch in here, and she throwin' ass, she keep sayin' "Spank me''
See, these n*ggas they ain't tryna get no bag, don't know what they thinkin'
n*gga, I ain't tryna make no friendships 'cause they get to sinkin'

[Verse 3: BLP Kosher]
Hoppin' out on feet, passion pit, I take a walk
Machine gun stays by my side like I'm Megan Fox
Them boys playing air guitar, b*tch, I really rock
Spody and Luh Jojo in the cut that's a butchers block
I'm with Luh Tyler, no creator, odd future turnin' bright
Under my shirt that shinin' armor only hittin' licks at night
That's a dog fight, I'm breakin' that sh*t up like Dana White
Jews name was Mike Cook, he let me cook and pass the mic
Jitter bug, jitterin, I ain't buggin', they some lice
Long nights up in that Yoda, had to make a sacrifice
They disrespected 'til they saw I blew up, now they acting right
We be shining bright, the opps mad, flexin' moissanite
[Verse 4: Trapland Pat]
My side b*tch from Brooklyn
Pull up from that 3
Hit the net another bookin'
n*ggas mad hattin', quit cappin' before we hook him
Don't understand why they hating on my chances when I took them
All my hoes on my roster so bad but I don't want them

[Verse 5: Luh Tyler]
Yeah, all my n*ggas doin' good but all my b*tches bad
Man, I swear these hoes be for the team and they be getting passed
See you ran up a lil' cash but that ain't finna last
I be stayin' in my lane, I ain't nothin' like you n*ggas
Man, my n*gga, he insane, got a button on his pistol
I hit that n*gga b*tch like it's nothing, bet he miss her
I just jumped up on the mic, then I took off like a missile
I'm a big dawg to you n*ggas, bet they call me Mister
Can't get your b*tch off me, she sees these diamonds and these crystals
I'ma snap any time you put me on the instrumental
Look at my neck, that b*tch on froze, it get cold like December

[Verse 6: Trapland Pat]
Believe what you see, not what you heard, 'cause it ain't in vain
25 thousand grams of swappery I zoed the strain
My Cali' bih tryna go skiing 'cause Luh Tyler chain
25 ain't gon make the cut for that Johnny Dang
I can show you how to make the ends meet if it ain't circulation
You gon' have to really lock in, using concentration
If a n*gga say he run Deerfield, thats exaggeration
Ski done beat that hat bout that Z, he ain't even Haitian
[Verse 7: BLP Kosher]
Pat told me stay from 'round the trick, he ain't Odell
Cash rules everything around me like the Carvel
Amy Winehouse, I'm sippin' cherry in the motel
Sir smoke a lot of opps, half baked, Dave Chapelle
Speedin' to that cheese in Saint Pete, but I'm not Russian
Woop dewoo, slid the palm tree with a bakers dozen
He was stretchin' sh*t before the fame like he Danny Duncan
Catch him out back and I'ma fry him, that's a blooming onion