StanWill - Poetry lyrics

Like, huh, hold on, huh

Let the lab chain swing
But this bitch a trophy
We the mo'fucking reason Apple
Got a shit emoji
Bae rock Christian Dior, so my bitch is holy
Looking like December 25th
All these giffies on me
Think you finna play with my pape'?
You would die for that
Bro'll wet your fucking tee
Up like a laundromat
I ain't talking 'bout no seat belt
But I ride with straps
Lemon cherry stuffed in the 'Wood, bitch
Kinda smack feel like Tropicana
Got the juice off of punching shit
Funny I got four burners on
Me and a oven mitt we ain't even beefing
But he mad I humped his bitch
She don't ask what I'm doing
Bitch know I'm thumbing strips
Bitch thinking it's a spacecraft, it's a AMG
Empty ass soul
Ain't no love or no hate in me
Off White X on my shirt, this a racist tee
She wanna give her heart
Made your bitch give her face to me
Trackhawks, Hellcats, you ain't racing me
If it's up, then my baby sending shit to
The Gates with me
I be dogging nigga's hoes, ain't no taming me
Fan stopped me in the mall, my bitch saying
"It's the fame for me"
If I get a mill' today, bitch
Me and gang breaking even
I should bring a fucking bed in that bitch
I'd stay in Neiman's
Lil' bro'll pop your ass just because
He can't tame his demons
I just hit the booth and shit talk
You would think my aim is speaking
Bro sip expensive on his Wock'
In the Simply shit four pockets full
But my heart on some empty shit chill day
Still stepping out in some crispy shit
I don't know if she believe me or not
On some Ripley shit
For me, it's a giffy trip
Unc' making brickies flip
This some Off White
Fuck I look like in Dickie drip?
Hunnid rounds in this lil' bitch
This the Mickey stick
With all that lil' shit, no
Cap, you can miss me, bitch
If you my dog, you my dog, boy
I got your back
762's flip his ass like a acrobat
All that shit you be rapping 'bout
Put a cap on that
Let this ho ever say it's up
We gon' act on that
Drawing plays up for them bills
Feel like Belichick
She can be your lil' bitch
I'm still getting hella neck
Balenciaga's on, boy
That's 10K in seven steps
Tryna throw a fist? That's gon'
Land you in Heaven, neph'
Yeah, Supreme tee with the liver
Looking like an organ donor
Red bottoms for my bitch, boy
Ain't no Jordan's on her
Three-five after three-five
Getting more than stoners
Since he playing with his fucking life
Get it short and dome him
Pull up on my opps
Wave a stick like it's sorcery
Green beams and white gloves, boy
That's the force in me
You could see a damn biscuit, boy
You ain't horsing me
They say I'm shit talking, but
To me, this shit poetry, whew