Commercial

Album: My Turn (2020)
Charted: 23
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  • (Tay Keith this too hard)
    (Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)

    I paid some extra before we even come out
    And don't even wear it to show I ain't playin'
    I hit the bitch and I gave her some racks
    And I pull up my pants, she know I ain't stayin'
    Go on a store run and get rubber bands
    I done got rich, I done put on my mans
    Choppas in traffic, that's just how I'm livin'
    They say that I'm trippin', they wouldn't understand
    She take a trip, she come back with a tan
    I take a trip, I come back with them bands
    When I was dealin', it really was killin' them
    Had 'em competin' tryna see what I'm payin'
    She throw a hoodie on soon as we land
    She don't like pics, I got too many fans
    I run this shit, I can do what I want
    And it's really a limit, you do what you can
    I found the groove and I put that shit up
    'Fore I run out of cash, they're gonna run out of land
    I fell in love with this bitch 'cause her head was amazing
    I swear I don't even know her name
    I'm 'bout to takeoff, I gave 'em a chance
    They gave me ten M&M's on advance
    Thought I'd be trappin' forever, but God came and blessed me
    I guess He was part of the plan
    How he on fire, but he cool as a fan?
    Can't get at you, we gon' get at your man
    They can't relate to me 'cause I be poppin'
    And put in they face, let them see what I'm sayin'
    I'm rockin' shows like I play with a band
    Free all the bros, know I would if I can
    If I don't mean it, I swear I ain't sayin' it
    'Fore I was 21, swear I was savage, smashin'

    Hold up, who got Backwood? I need roll up
    Dior store can't keep up with me
    I'm spendin' thousands like money is nothin' to me
    I'm never comin' back, them people under me
    Not the fans, yeah, the haters
    Lotta bands on the table
    They say I went commercial, I ain't know it
    They want me catch a murder, I ain't goin' back
    Play myself out my position, who doin' that?

    We got FN with extensions, we throwin' that
    Her ass got my full attention, she throwin' that
    Niggas talkin' way too much, I ain't goin' back
    Forth with niggas, 'cause these niggas be holdin' racks
    On the real, yeah, we know you don't own them racks
    Four pockets full, push 'em down, they start pokin' back
    I turned 8 million right until I'm a quarterback
    Spent a million like I'm tryna bring Kobe back, 24 (woo)
    I'm ready, I'm ready, I use the Crock-Pot like it's Betty
    They say the drop hot, and it's ready
    Might stretch it out but it ain't fetti (yes)
    Say my dawg doin' time, but I know he ain't gonna snitch
    'Cause it's still some shit he didn't tell me
    My dawg stabbed his celly, he told me the whole story over the celly (brr, hello?)
    Went up on my price, in my pocket like Kelly
    Fucked her in the telly', no I can't not say who, no telly
    My head gettin' heavy
    And you know I still got Balmains on my ass
    No, I can't do no Amiris
    Said I'm takin' trips, long flights they scary
    She said her birthday in March, okay, cool
    So, that means you an Aries
    I told her, "Gotta go," she said, "You serious?"
    Diamonds cold, it's December, my vibe Sagittarius

    Hold up, who got Backwood? I need roll up
    Dior store can't keep up with me
    I'm spendin' thousands like money is nothin' to me
    I'm never comin' back, them people under me
    Not the fans, yeah, the haters
    Lotta bands on the table
    They say I went commercial, I ain't know it
    They want me catch a murder, I ain't goin' back
    Play myself out my position, who doin' that?

    I can switch up and come back another way
    Yeah, the vibe ain't right, come back another day
    Biggest dripper, I start up a tidal wave
    We mix weed, we put it in a microwave
    Batch for twenty-three, like I know Michael J
    He can say what he want, but he gotta pay
    Used to hide all the guns where my mama stay
    Send my drugs 'round the corner
    I pay all these bills, I'm a grown up
    My cars look different, I own 'em
    I ain't with no leasin', my bitch tellin' me I need credit
    It's loud and clear if I said it
    I come from the gutter, I spend me a hundred on Chevy's
    You can take me out the hood
    But you can't take the hood out of me
    Know the hood proud of me
    I Givenchy my tee, went and upgrade my teeth
    Yeah I dropped out of school, but that paper on me

    Hold up, who got Backwood? I need roll up
    Dior store can't keep up with me
    I'm spendin' thousand like money is nothin' to me
    I'm never comin' back, them people under me
    Not the fans, yeah, the haters
    Lotta bands on the table
    They say I went commercial, I ain't know it
    They want me catch a murder, I ain't goin' back
    Play myself out my position, who doin' that? Writer/s: Brytavious Chambers, Dominique Jones, Symere Woods
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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