F-U (f*ck You) lyrics

[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell a hater I said)
f*ck you, f*ck you (pus*y)
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell your b*tch I said)

[Verse 1: Yo Gotti]
Me
Ass up, face down
One night only, I'm from out of town
Pound, new rules, we ain't waiting on it
And if that pus*y good, we spend cake on it
Plane ticket, hotel, new bag, new Chanel
Giuseppe sneakers, his and hers
If you a hater, I just got two words

[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell a hater I said)
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (And tell your b*tch I said)

[Verse 2: Yo Gotti]
You, and the b*tches that you came with
All in my section drinking my sh*t
You ain't f*cking, you ain't sucking, what you doing, ho?
Instagram and taking pictures, but you don't know me, though
Damn, she said that she a fan
Yeah, I understand, but I want to get in her pants
'Cause she thick as f*ck and she sticking her tongue out
She said she don't f*ck with rappers
And I'm like, "what you talking about, b*tch?"
[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (I got two words for you)
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell a hater I said)

[Verse 3: Meek Mill]
Oh, I said f*ck ‘em
I don’t like 'em, I don’t love 'em
When the money come
Homies turn to haters, I don’t trust 'em
If the brick ain’t coming with a stamp, I don’t touch it
I want that BMF with the Scorpio when I’m bustin'
Like a b*tch when she twerkin’, y'all n*ggas workin'
Clown-ass n*ggas, we should put you in the circus
In the cage with the lion, let him have you for dessert
And testifying on your homie, took a deal, but was it worth it, n*gga?
I met this b*tch, she said “my friend, she want to f*ck you"
I like your friend, but really, though, I wanna f*ck you
And if I get my roadie, though, he gotta to f*ck too
Now put your middle fingers up and scream

[Verse 4: Yo Gotti]
Haters, n*gga mad at the paper
Big crib, ten cars, twenty acres
Twenty chains, ten watches, I'm a jewler
Lil’ watch with the jest, don’t let it fool you
I could school you on how to look like money
Hustler of the year, could write a book ‘bout money
Don’t pop them bottles tryna impress them hoes
With your re-up money better tell them hoes, b*tch
[Chorus: Yo Gotti]
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell a b*tch I said)
f*ck you, f*ck you
f*ck you, f*ck you (Tell a hater I said)