Autumn! - Autumar Wick! lyrics
Autumn! [Benjamin Clarence Phillips Jr.] Lafayette, Louisiana/Houston, Texas, U.S 🇺🇸
[Autumn! - Autumar Wick! lyrics]
I love you, Balmain are you ready kids?
Woah, woah, woah (Blatt) yeah, yeah (Blatt)
Yeah, yeah it's Surreal Gang, bitch
We gon' run up in his house like
"Give me that shit" (Blatt)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick (Blatt)
You be doin' too much flexin' you
A lick, lick, lick
(Blatt) two 1911s, call me Autumar Wick
She just wanna fuck with me 'cause
She heard that I'm rich (yeah)
All the bullshit
Leave it for the birds in this bitch (yeah)
I be shittin' on these niggas
Smell like turds in this bitch (Brr)
Got a foreign bitch with me
In a turban and shit (Woah)
Good gas got me high, on some turbulence shit
(Woah)
Bitch, leave me alone with that hurryin' shit
(Woah) i be ballin' on these niggas
Like Curry and shit
I'm in Bollywood eating curry and shit (Ha)
Up in Hollywood, I ain't worried 'bout shit
(Ha)
Seen me in public, he was nervous as shit
I remember hoes used to curve me and shit
(Huh) now they hit me up 'cause
They heard me and shit (Ha)
YSL coat, it's furry as shit
(It's furry as shit) he eatin' McDonald's
He eatin' flurries and shit (Ha)
Me and Rino, we in Benihana's
Eatin' hundred dollar burgers and shit
Runnin' 'round with them 30s and glicks
(Blatt) bB Simon, yeah it hold up the blick
Blatt, blatt woah
We gon' run up in his house
Like give me that shit (Give me that)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick
(And it kick, kick, kick)
You be doin' too much flexin'
Boy, you a lick, lick, lick
(You a lick, lick, lick)
Two 1911s, like Autumar Wick!
(Woah, woah, woah)
Two 1911s, like Autumar Wick!
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
Moncler with the khakis
On my Almighty So shit (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah my pockets getting baggy
'cause all this money don't fit
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah that lil' bitch call me
Daddy, she say "Autumn!, don't fit"
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
And my new bitch she bratty, yeah
She always throwin' fit's (Woah, woah, woah)
Used to always want a Grammy
I don't care 'bout that shit
(No, no, woah, yeah)
We gon' run up in his house
Like give me that shit
(Give me that shit, yeah)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick
(Blatt, blatt, bah)
You be doin' too much flexin'
You a lick, lick, lick
(You a lick, lick, lick)
Two 1911s, call me Autumar Wick
(Woah, woah, woah)
Woah, woah, woah (Blatt) yeah, yeah (Blatt)
Yeah, yeah it's Surreal Gang, bitch
We gon' run up in his house like
"Give me that shit" (Blatt)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick (Blatt)
You be doin' too much flexin' you
A lick, lick, lick
(Blatt) two 1911s, call me Autumar Wick
She just wanna fuck with me 'cause
She heard that I'm rich (yeah)
All the bullshit
Leave it for the birds in this bitch (yeah)
I be shittin' on these niggas
Smell like turds in this bitch (Brr)
Got a foreign bitch with me
In a turban and shit (Woah)
Good gas got me high, on some turbulence shit
(Woah)
Bitch, leave me alone with that hurryin' shit
(Woah) i be ballin' on these niggas
Like Curry and shit
I'm in Bollywood eating curry and shit (Ha)
Up in Hollywood, I ain't worried 'bout shit
(Ha)
Seen me in public, he was nervous as shit
I remember hoes used to curve me and shit
(Huh) now they hit me up 'cause
They heard me and shit (Ha)
YSL coat, it's furry as shit
(It's furry as shit) he eatin' McDonald's
He eatin' flurries and shit (Ha)
Me and Rino, we in Benihana's
Eatin' hundred dollar burgers and shit
Runnin' 'round with them 30s and glicks
(Blatt) bB Simon, yeah it hold up the blick
Blatt, blatt woah
We gon' run up in his house
Like give me that shit (Give me that)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick
(And it kick, kick, kick)
You be doin' too much flexin'
Boy, you a lick, lick, lick
(You a lick, lick, lick)
Two 1911s, like Autumar Wick!
(Woah, woah, woah)
Two 1911s, like Autumar Wick!
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
Moncler with the khakis
On my Almighty So shit (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah my pockets getting baggy
'cause all this money don't fit
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah that lil' bitch call me
Daddy, she say "Autumn!, don't fit"
(yeah, yeah, yeah)
And my new bitch she bratty, yeah
She always throwin' fit's (Woah, woah, woah)
Used to always want a Grammy
I don't care 'bout that shit
(No, no, woah, yeah)
We gon' run up in his house
Like give me that shit
(Give me that shit, yeah)
Got a 223 and it kick, kick, kick
(Blatt, blatt, bah)
You be doin' too much flexin'
You a lick, lick, lick
(You a lick, lick, lick)
Two 1911s, call me Autumar Wick
(Woah, woah, woah)