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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
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