Flee Lord, Chase Fetti - For the Leg lyrics

Ya I met her on the two train
Uptown back when I was on my raw game
Headphones listening to Kanye, lips
Like Kelly Rowland, hips like Yoncé
Sweatsuit and waverunners my diva
For like eight summers, straight stunner
Dripping steak eating like we hate hunger
Rock away, broad walk, chopper and some?
Send it in a bag incase
Them stupid niggas want chalk
Nikes in the city
Sipping white living gritty
This the life of a hustler and
My wife with the shit's
Bonnies and my Clyde ain’t
No homi’s getting tried
And I don’t do the clubs
Unless mami get inside
Fuck around with Flee and you
Fucking with my lord, eh
They searched but they don’t peep
The heat inside her corset
Coming home to place like my
Momma set the table
? so clean, bout to sign her to the label

Put a brick in my bitch purse
And i don’t count the money
Give that shit to my bitch first
Don’t fix it if it work
Shorty gone hold it down
I ain’t talking gas when I tell
You she blow the pound
Told her bout the kitchen
Now she cook she be throwing down
Im talking whole plates
It's a blessing say I’m great
Amen, my bitch riding with a
Strap like some gay friends
Only time we play the bag
Is when we play Benz or play Bens nigga
I send em with the 50
Clip we break ends nigga
Yeah, we the modern day Bonnie and Clyde
Only thing I know for sure though
Is that mami gone ride
Mami gone ease all my pain and
Fuck me outta my mind
Keep all the change she
Ain’t dropping a dime, thats my down bitch
I tell her slow down shorty down shift
I made her my queen cause that crown fit