Video de: Word To Yams Lyrics Playboi Carti » Rap Fox.MusicaDe.Win

Playboi Carti - Word To Yams Lyrics

[Intro: J.R. Donato]
Uh
Look
Ayy

[Verse 1: J.R. Donato]
Run up my check, I want money so tall that I think I can sit on it
No I'm not Glizzy, I'm totin' the glizzy, that bitch got the dick on it
Pull out my dick and your nasty lil hoe, no, she won't put her lips on it
Pump with the grip on it
After I grip on it, ho' come and sit on it
Daydreaming suckin' my dick
I'm that highly remembered, she take it and kiss on it
Heard the lil niggas was talkin' about robbin'
But how? When I got the stick on me
Easy when I got the tip on me
Muddy, yeah, I got the sip on me
Easily .30 my clip, homie
Nudie my jeans while I shit on 'em

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no bitch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
Nigga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my dick, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no bitch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah
[Verse 2: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no bitch, boy, I'm off this gas
My phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas
Aye, these cops on my ass
Dirty kitchen, dirty cash
Cash Carti, money bags
Yeah, ho, I keep a sack
Got a cup filled with act, I'm a real ass nigga
40 clip with the strap
Blow a nigga off the map
Blowing Backwoods in the trap, ay
Uh, nigga talkin' down, boy, my niggas spray

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no bitch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
Nigga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my dick, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no bitch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah

[Verse 3: J.R. Donato]
I got the bag and I keep a stash, when I need the cash, I dig in it
Taylors in here, we get high as skyscrapers and that's every time we be kickin' it
Well-put-together, them hoes say this shit articulate, ain't it so sick, isn't it?
Busy and Charlie, I'm whippin' it, sauce I be drippin' it, come take a dip in it
[Verse 4: Playboi Carti]
She a scene ho, it's all good though
Pull down my pants, oh, don't use your hands, woah
I heard about you, girl, you heard about me too
You heard I got them bands, I heard that mouth for food

[Chorus: Playboi Carti]
I ain't worried bout no bitch, thumbin' through the check
Boy, money got me sick, my ex done got me sick
Aye, cash, cash
My car go fast, fast
Nigga, Ferrari smash
Money bags, ay
Yeah, she all on my dick, yeah I might just smash
Pass her to my clique, then I hit her last
I ain't worried bout no bitch, boy, I'm off this gas
Yeah, my phone blowin' up, I think they need some gas, yeah