[Verse 1: juice loya]
Aye Will (aye Will)
Where ya been (where ya been)
You be always grinding, take no rests (take no rests)
Two phone, contacts, but get no texts (he get no texts)
Ain’t nobody do it better cuz I’m doing it the best (21)
And my house party really need some guests
If Desiigner gonna be there then you know you got me X’d
Now I’m ballin’ out, Mo Bamba like I’m Sheck
Hell nah, boy, you ain’t gettin’ the MacKenzie test
Got the fire in my eyes and they don’t get it (they don’t get it)
Kid be up on Twitter sayin’, “Send me direct message” (DM)
Weiner sits alone at lunch, man this kid’s pathetic (straight up)
200k up on the gram, but buyin’ what percentage? (bop)
I crashed a cop car (skrt)
Yeah, I got fat bars
You whiter than the mallow in a f*ckin’ Mallowmars (bop)
Cali boy, yeah, just know I’m tryna shred the gnar
Pick that FaceTime up, then put it back down, end the call
[Verse 2: Yung Benny]
You try to break the ice by takin’ photos
I do it with dos Four Lokos (splash)
You say you can’t drink because you’re famous, but most celebrities don’t know what your name is
Flowin’ like a pus*y, something you will never see
Killin’ your career, that’s murder to the first degree
Thanks for teaching me ‘bout homosexuality
Everyone know when I spit on this flow that I’ve sealed my prophecy (peace)
Boolin’ with my crew, the boys are buzzin’ like a bee (bzzz)
To say that you are famous is to use hyperbole
Describing you is easy, you’re a pus*y-wannabe
Livin’ in a fantasy, too scared to face reality
Bar after bar, 21 Savage
Your parent probably wish that they had had a miscarriage
Came back to CT thinkin’ that you’d be the man
Should’ve stayed in Cali cuz at least you’d get a tan, yuh
[Verse 3: blacktestes]
Who’s that tall kid with that pale skin?
Just a nobody, strugglin’ to fit in
Flex that cash (tough guy leased his own car)
Chase that ass (dude thinks that he’s a rockstar)
Posted up next to Chris Brown’s pool
Rich guy, you’re a beggar (“Do you have some juul?”)
Step up, we gon’ send yo’ ass tumblin’
You got no game, Willy (big things comin’)
[Verse 4: Buddha Sty]
Weinbach think he slick, he ain’t nothin’
Fake follows on the gram, caught him bluffin’
All these wack snap stories, they suckin’
(juice loya: I’d f*ck on yo’ b*tch if you had one, but you ain’t got nothin’, get yo’ ass to cuffin’)
Get off your phone, boy, what’s your problem?
Couple parties, now you think you really mobbin’
Look me in the eyes, and say you’re tough
Oh no, your social media just a cover up, oh no
Todd Gurley? Good luck
Yeesh, fake flexin’ got us f*cked up
Cut the bullsh*t
You a tool, b*tch
No softies in my gang, that’s some fool sh*t
Look, Will, I don’t wanna destroy your career
But if you pull some wack sh*t, don’t let me hear
[Outro: juice loya]
See you walkin’ down the halls, better steer clear
Herein lies the message, Will: don’t come near