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(Perfect 10)

We be countin' up all hundreds, and they gotta be blue (Gotta be new)
I stay with a bad b*t*h, yeah, that gotta be true (Gotta be true)
I must've hopped out in Off-White
I got twenty grand gone on my off-night, on my off-night
Run up, it's gon' look like an off light (Yeah, run up, it's gon' look like an off light)

sh*t gettin' dim, four iPhones, ain't no SIMs
Eighty-five hundred on rims, my spot look like the Sims, yeah (Like the Sims)
Gucci gram costs lots of loot
I get mouth while I got your boo
I blow exotic out the roof
Louis pants, they match the coupe
You the type to go in store, ask what's the best they could do, that's what I don't do
All this sh*t no favor, ain't no IOU
And I keep a stick, it won't be me, it's gon' be Y-O-U
You mad 'cause the David Yurman on my b*t*h, not on you
All that exotic a flower force, I'm at Fontainebleau, b*t*h new
Boy, that lean was fake, all he heard was, "I'm good"
Better not get to close to me in traffic, I pop your hood
b*t*h gon' get too wet for me, a napkin won't do no good
I'm not worried 'bout nothin' ain't gon' happen when in your hood
Four-door sedan sittin' in sand, need to be washed by hand
b*t*h want bags look better than Birkins, gotta be made by hand, yeah
Two hundred grand in all hundreds, and they gotta be blue (Gotta be new)
I stay with a bad b*t*h, yeah, that gotta be true (Gotta be true)
I must've hopped out in Off-White (My b*t*h must've hopped out in Off-White)
I got twenty grand gone on my off-night (Got twenty grand gone on my off-night)
Run up, it's gon' look like an off light (Richie Bux)

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, ayy

I might just hop out in all chrome, yeah, ayy
Leave me a thug at the crossroads, needles, sweats
Boy, I'll leave a whole clip in your vest, yeah
That boy like Bron when I go with the best
You put me to sleep, I needed some rest
Put me to sleep, I needed some rest
Yeah, f**k with the drank, I needed that Tech
Can you place your order to burden the next
She prayin' for me, but I think it's a hex, yeah
I'm f**kin' with Virgil and Christian Dior
If you bust a play, we walk in the store, b*t*h, yeah
Ayy
Highest eleven, the
Highest eleven, the
Highest eleven, the
Highest eleven, the closest to Heaven
Highest eleven, the closest to Heaven
Highest eleven, the closest to Heaven

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