Lyrics
I'm in the full Sergio tacchini sweatsuit, I'm in northeast gettin' money
I just had the golf course in the S55, gentle banks, burnt Rolls Royce in the tunnel
Whoa, best settle down
Whoa, settle down
Stop tryna figure out why **** so serious, at the point in my career I don't need your opinion
The girl seen me whip, but she oh so fierce
I took it all for sauce, sell it for a record deal
It's by cell or breakin' and enterin'
Interstate commerce and white collar criminals
He ain't even took nun' there in his life
But the present side make a young **** vicious
And I can't blame this ****, I done been there
I can't blame, 'cuz ****, I done did it
Took the road I did, a lot of **** wouldn't have even got there
He fucked me over with that money and I ain't dealt with the old **** since
Had to deal with a lot of bullshit for a little hand-to-hand paper
Fuck it, let you know, shit don't matter
**** callin' the homie phone talkin' 'bout "**** wanna kill me"
Summertime, tank top, hot outside, shit gettin' serious
Switch on me, ringtone, flip phone, all my bitches near
Big swing, big swing, huh, brodie bro, dawg, **** u hear me?
Big dawg, high rolla', top shotta', doin' big boy business
Quarter million, two hundred fifty thou', when a **** gon' start listenin?
Helicop' take to the airport, then a **** start sippin'
Slow down bitch, now you bending the corner a lil' bit too swiftly
When I get that money, I ain't gon' be the same, I'm telling you
Whoa, and I'm dead serious
Bitch, I'm dead serious
I'm a high roller
Whoa, whoa whoa who
Written by: El Cousteau