Lyrics

On my way to see these pearly gates
I'd rather be in Saint-Tropez
Touching a chunky check
Off a play I just made on Saturday
If it rains then it's pouring
All this pain I'm recording
Never loan out what you don't got
And don't consign what you ain't holding
Texas hold 'em play my cards
No matter what I cannot fold them
Gotta soak the game up
Gotta listen to what they told him
I ain't forfeit since
I gave up on waiting for pops to pick me up
Only thing that can pick me up
Is contract for a milly plus
Richard Mille buss
I ain't dealing much with you silly fucks
Bills is piling up
And the first of the month is coming up
Broke **** is broken
Real **** bill folding
So much money out this world
How the fuck can you not be glowing
Not to boast it
But I'm tired of seeing my people
Locked and homeless
Lots of hoe shit happening at the top
And shit rolls downhill
Round real never starving
Always heartless
Cold as Arctic
Send out all my parcels
And I'll triple everything you started
Know you've heard a lot of crazy shit
But trust me, this the hardest
Blood all on my Basquiat
But I can let you pick the artist
Look at what you **** started
This is a warning
Taking off your top like that shit was garnish
Trust me we ain't missing targets
It's get fucked or fuck the game
Bitch, I'm Mr. Marcus
Took a lot to get where I'm at
Some of that shit was heartless
Listen, they don't carry
What I be wearing in this department
Fuck how the night ends
I'm getting off a fit regardless
This is where the bar is
You boys ain't even coming close
Everything I hear sounds like a running joke
I know it seems like I just be chilling
But I've done the most
I come from humble folks
But I'ma be the one to boast
I'm the one they quote
What he wrote
Sounds like floating on 100 spokes
Proposed a toast
And told my momma that
Your son's a GOAT
Let the glass touch
There ain't nobody moving past us
I'm young Marley on his last dutch
Written by: Andre Clarke, Elton Pichardo, Ryan Lay
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