Meek Mill, Gunna - Sunday lyrics

(AJ Stay Workin, on God)
(Run that back, Turbo)

All of my foreigns got luxurious speed
I could hit on the freeway
I ain't givin' no help
I know how to play deaf I
Don't talk to the DA
Met yo bitch in the strip, wit'
My dick on her lip
And her nut lookin' like toothpaste
If we hop in da' whip
With sixteen in the clip
That boy gon see his due date
Got hunnids', on hunnids', on
Hunnids', on hunnids'
I keep me some blue racks
If it's your comma, it cost
Me a couple of commas, i got it in two days
Lot of garments, designer, and 'Coste
I'm rockin' this shit on the runway


Livin' life and I love it
Won't trade it for nothin'
Thank God every Sunday

Do what they don't, and I ball when I want
And these niggas don't like it
When I step on the scene it's me
I'm so fresh and so clean
I know they gon' bite it
Pockets full of blue cheese, I'm
Smokin' on Biscotti weed
I'm tryna get the highest
If you playin' with me, I
Make sure don't nobody eat
You goin' on a diet
Yeah, we ain't goin' on a diet
Call up the dealer and order the Cayennes
True what I do, why the fuck is you lyin'?
Keep me a tool
'cause the world steady dyin'
You not from the city, you live in Mt zion
I can't leave the spot
Without havin' that iron
Keep this shit quiet
Don't speak through the vine
Free all my dogs on the road doin' time
Young Wunna the man, I'm touching my fam
My touch is the Midas
Swear to God we ain't playin', keep
Us a hot minivan, the block, we can light it
Louis bag full of bands, I keep
Me a lil' hunnid' gram
Ain't nothin' excitin'
Out the jungle, I pull out the lion
We got somethin' to sell and we buyin'

All of my foreigns got luxurious speed
I could hit on the freeway
I ain't givin' no help
I know how to play deaf I
Don't talk to the DA
Met yo bitch in the strip, wit'
My dick on her lip
And her nut lookin' like toothpaste
If we hop in da' whip
With sixteen in the clip
That boy gon see his due date
Got hunnids', on hunnids', on
Hunnids', on hunnids'
I keep me some blue racks
If it's your comma, it cost
Me a couple of commas, i got it in two days
Lot of garments, designer, and 'Coste
I'm rockin' this shit on the runway
Livin' life and I love it
Won't trade it for nothin'
Thank God every Sunday

Woah, how you havin'? Fuckin' bad bitches
How you livin'? 42 shots got
Me way out of character
How you did it? Came in this bitch
I was banging her barriers
Who you datin'? I got the
Baddest lil' bitch in America
I tried not to brag, boast
Even though I'm like the last GOAT
Dash through record, break this shit
Take it down like a bad post
She was playin' so I broke her heart
Now she mad put some
I was drippin' in the Saint Laurent
Cartier bust the Santons
Jumpin' in and out of Lambos'
Runnin' in and out of
Totin' choppas with extendos
Puttin' models in the friendzone
Milly rocking in the end
Zone, Richard Millie, got a 'Benz on
She gon' fuck me but her friends on
I'ma fuck her put my mans up

All of my foreigns got luxurious speed
I could hit on the freeway
I ain't givin' no help
I know how to play deaf I
Don't talk to the DA
Met yo bitch in the strip, wit'
My dick on her lip
And her nut lookin' like toothpaste
If we hop in da' whip
With sixteen in the clip
That boy gon see his due date
Got hunnids', on hunnids', on
Hunnids', on hunnids'
I keep me some blue racks
If it's your comma, it cost
Me a couple of commas, i got it in two days
Lot of garments, designer, and 'Coste
I'm rockin' this shit on the runway
Livin' life and I love it
Won't trade it for nothin'
Thank God every Sunday