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Fresh Outta London
by
Jake Paul
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Lyrics
Track: Fresh Outta London Album: Fresh Outta London Artists: Jake Paul Released on: 2020-07-24 Fresh Outta London Lyrics: I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends Only here to make ends, call when the check in I don’t like Porsche, need a whole backend Fresh outta London, she still got a accent The crib like a palace, I took her to ‘Basas If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him I got me a bad bitch to cuddle, I’m maxin’ the commas They shook up, they throwin’ a tantrum, yeah Wrist is flooded, no competition, can’t listen, ain’t talkin’ ’bout shit I’m lit, they know it, they wanna hate on the music but I’m makin’ hits These hunnids, I throw ’em, I need like eighty a show, that’s some minimum shit I leave the house and I’m wearin’ some shit you can’t get and I swear this shit cost like a brick I’ve been runnin’ up M’s all week, I’m a vet Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on the jet On a different time, this a Audemars Piguet See eight bad bitches like the brand new ‘Vette We gon’ get ’em all, why the fuck I would I stress? Think I need rehab, I’m addicted to a check And she gon’ say it’s love but she know I want the sex, bitch Don’t you dare leave a hickey on my neck ‘Cause the Cullinan massage my back, I’m stressed (I’m stressed) Stars in the roof, get the bitch undressed With an ass like that, I forget my ex (Haha) Racks like this meant that God, I’m blessed I been on top, I should beat my chest Tell you that she loyal, we gon’ put her to the test Wanna lose your bitch? Well, then be my guest ‘Cause I been real cold in this Moncler vest I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends Only here to make ends, call when the check in I don’t like Porsche, need a whole backend Fresh outta London, she still got a accent The crib like a palace, I took her to ‘Basas If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him I got me a bad bitch to cuddle, I’m maxin’ the commas They shook up, they throwin’ a tantrum, yeah (Yeah) Wrist is flooded, no competition, can’t listen, ain’t talkin’ ’bout shit I’m lit, they know it, they wanna hate on the music but I’m makin’ hits These hunnids, I throw ’em, I need like eighty a show, that’s some minimum shit I leave the house and I’m wearin’ some shit you can’t get and I swear this shit cost like a brick
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