I love all my friends Thinkin' about this life I provide for them This world has some real things dividin' them My right hand, he's Muslim, I'll die for him My road manager is drunk as hell at 5 p. m. I get knocked down, they help me rise again Ref 1 leave the game, I'm sayin' bye with him Drake, turn this shit the fuck up
I don't care about my opps (I don't care about my opps) I don't care about my opps (I don't care about no opps) I don't care about my opps (I don't care about no opp) Yeah, take a pic (Take a pic) , Richard Millie no stopwatch (Let's go, uh-uh) Take a pic of your lips gobblin' on my cock (Let's go, uh-uh, shit) I don't care 'bout no motherfuckin' watch, nah (I don't care 'bout no, uh, nah) I don't care 'bout no high-end thot (Nah, nah, nah) Bitch, you just a (Bitch, you just a) , bystander Christian Dior pajama, Gucci up under, body number
I just picked up somethin' from Mercedes, it's a one of one Black exterior the one that I want red inside like that time of the month Blood money, that's how I got this blood money, that's how I got this We can vacation wherever we want 'cause I don't care where none of my opps is
I told the promoter tonight, put me across from they section We don't play patty cake they just be lettin' us in, we don't do the inspection I can't sleep at night with Thug at Cobb County Corrections I think he did enough reflectin' I think my brother learned his lesson It's all just a part of the game we all gotta roll with protection And just like the motherfuckin' judge the hammers come out for objections Nigga, what's up? A hundred and forty-three Rolexes in my collection I put the horns on the front of the 'Bach you know Drizzy gon' roll like a Texan She textin' she love me, the Mexicans love me I'm out here just makin' connections And Junior Boy rollin' like Cinco de Mayo he may hold a fifth in possession The way that I'm used to playin' the politics swear I could win the election You niggas is overprotective with hoes I'm already over the next one I'm at 48 with Ty and the vino, we drunk it's not even a question These niggas tryna send a message well, leave that shit down at reception, ayy
[Chorus: Young Thug] I don't care about my opps (I don't care about my opps) I don't care about my opps (I don't care about no opps) I don't care about my opps (I don't care about no opp) Yeah, take a pic (Take a pic) Richard Millie, no stopwatch (Let's go, uh-uh) Take a pic of your lips gobblin' on my cock (Let's go, uh-uh, shit) I don't care 'bout no motherfuckin' watch, nah (I don't care 'bout no, uh, nah) I don't care 'bout no high-end thot (Nah, nah, nah) Bitch, you just a (Bitch, you just a) , bystander Christian Dior pajama, Gucci up under, body number (Woo)
I just picked up somethin' from Mercedes, it's a one of one Black exterior the one that I want red inside like that time of the month Blood money, that's how I got this, blood money that's how I got this We can vacation wherever we want 'cause I don't care where none of my opps is
You hang around too many niggas that's pussy you gotta be pussy If it's on sight, up your gun on me all that muggin' and lookin' Yeah, niggas doin' all that woofin', pussy 4L bomb shit, walk inside the store that switch in my armpit I go wherever, I keep a Beretta, and niggas ain't on shit My opps together, but I don't discriminate I got 'em both hit Them niggas be lyin', they niggas be dyin' and they don't never post shit No rap cap come out my mouth made a couple songs, think he hot now Hit his ass up, he think he Pac now, broad daylight he got shot down Chopper bullets make his ass hop 'round bloodshed, ain't no way to stop now Goin' live'll get your ass popped now seem like everybody want an opp now Leavin' him flatline, Slaughter Gang knife in the back, I'm on that time Turn him to a hashtag make him a "long live, " niggas ain't my kind Tried and true, I'ma pop mine I was seventeen with a Glock 9 I wanna see red, stop sign, I wanna see red, Clifford She keep tryna rip off my zipper I moved to LA, I'm a Clipper He think with his dick, he a tricker get your bitch out the car 'fore we blick her We put an AirTag on his car, he in Miami by Brickell Say hello to the four-nickel I got a magazine, who got an issue? Givin' out smoke, pussy, my trigger finger broke Don't try me like no ho, I always let it blow I pull up, fah, score, nigga, we caught him by that store How much you wanna bet they ass won't stand right there no more? I'm Slaughter Gang OVO A half a million a show but I still walk in with that pole, idiot
Ayy, I'm feelin' like 2 Chainz, T. R. U Bitch, I'm 21, bitch, I'm not 22 Knockin' off the namebrand niggas in your crew Heard you miss your dogs, now it's long live who? Idiot Yeah
Confirmação de Idade
Esta letra possui restrição de idade, você deve ter mais que 18 anos para acessá-la.
Compositores: Aubrey Drake Graham (SOCAN), Jeffery Lamar Williams (BMI), Shayaa Bin Abraham-joseph (21 Savage) (ASCAP)Editores: Artist 101 Publishing Group (BMI), Atlantic Songs (BMI), Slaughter Gang (ASCAP)Administração: Warner-tamerlane Publishing Co (BMI), Wc Music Corp (ASCAP)ECAD verificado obra #46022218 em 01/Out/2024 com dados da UBEM