CORRIGER LES PAROLES
Paroles : Confession
B Mills, what up though?
BYLUG
4-1
Started out dime-stashin’, now I’m into high fashion
Ridin’ past in S-Classes, when I walk, my neck clashin’
Chains hittin’ other chains, every day, I’m duckin’ lames
Braggin’ ‘bout that petty sh*t, boy, I’m in another lane
Crib with electric gates, coupes with the paper plates
Scrape and shake in place, help a n***a get his paper straight
Pocket-watchers tryna calculate what I make a day
‘Cause I been wearin’ rose gold since Miskeen and Bathing Ape
Pointers in the cross when I’m sayin’ grace, amen
Outfit almost eight bands, your b*t*h told me to make plans
Told me meet her at the Black party, b*t*h, I’m weighin’ friends
Sippin’ on tea with Louis gloves warmin’ up on my hands
Obviously, I ain’t your man
He a pill-poppin, nappy-head, tacky motherf**ker
I’m a smooth hustler
I drink Dom P and wear snug tees that smell like Creed
And flood neighborhoods anytime I’m sellin’ weed
My confession is I’m ballin’ on ‘em like it’s my possession
Never restin’, only time I sit – I’m countin’ at the Westin
They can’t f**k with me, my competition is my reflection
My confession is I got a bad Louis Vuitton obsession
My confession: I can’t help but to buy some sh*t that I like
Go to sleep, dream about diamonds, wake up and buy some ice
My confession: I had your b*t*h suckin’ me all night
Went to sleep in D&G and woke up in off-white
My confession
BYLUG
4-1
Started out dime-stashin’, now I’m into high fashion
Ridin’ past in S-Classes, when I walk, my neck clashin’
Chains hittin’ other chains, every day, I’m duckin’ lames
Braggin’ ‘bout that petty sh*t, boy, I’m in another lane
Crib with electric gates, coupes with the paper plates
Scrape and shake in place, help a n***a get his paper straight
Pocket-watchers tryna calculate what I make a day
‘Cause I been wearin’ rose gold since Miskeen and Bathing Ape
Pointers in the cross when I’m sayin’ grace, amen
Outfit almost eight bands, your b*t*h told me to make plans
Told me meet her at the Black party, b*t*h, I’m weighin’ friends
Sippin’ on tea with Louis gloves warmin’ up on my hands
Obviously, I ain’t your man
He a pill-poppin, nappy-head, tacky motherf**ker
I’m a smooth hustler
I drink Dom P and wear snug tees that smell like Creed
And flood neighborhoods anytime I’m sellin’ weed
My confession is I’m ballin’ on ‘em like it’s my possession
Never restin’, only time I sit – I’m countin’ at the Westin
They can’t f**k with me, my competition is my reflection
My confession is I got a bad Louis Vuitton obsession
My confession: I can’t help but to buy some sh*t that I like
Go to sleep, dream about diamonds, wake up and buy some ice
My confession: I had your b*t*h suckin’ me all night
Went to sleep in D&G and woke up in off-white
My confession
