Choosin

Daytime - lights on

Hell yeah I'm frontin' but you love it

I don't hide, bitch, I'm high when I'm in public

Even in my everyday ride I be stuntin'

This is nothin', really, you should see me Sunday

I'm from New Orleans, love, so you know how I'm comin'

Hop out that Impala, left the motor runnin'

There's my lil' homies front that store, they ain't gon' touch it

"Spitta, where you goin'?"

I'm finna make the money

I come through in that bread truck, everybody hungry

I be tryna keep it low, but the streets be talkin'

I heard they think I'm sellin' dope, on them walkie-talkies

They worse than them bitches, them bitches be stalkin'

Outside checkin' for which car a nigga parked in

She said she from Belize, but she can speak Ferrari

I roll that tree and write a song about it in the morning

Pull up in that... and them bitches start choosin'

Choosin', choosin', choosin', choosin'

Pull off in that... and them haters gon' lose it

Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it

Pull up in that... and them bitches start choosin'

Choosin', choosin', choosin', choosin'

Pull off in that... and them haters gon' lose it

Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it

Pull up pushin' buttons, blowin' OG like it's nothin'

Marijuana fussin', smokin' loud, it's no discussion

Black and yellow, black and yellow, somethin' out of nothin'

Choppers like the Russians, bust your head, that's a concussion

Full-time grinder, all-the-time hustlin'

Bitch I'm from the 'Burg, so you know that I be thuggin'

Made it from the bottom so in God we put our trust in

Certified stoner, get up raw and put a nug in

'Raris, 'raris, 'raris, Lamborghini, hara-kiri

Suicidal doors, tell the owner I said "sorry"

Pull up in that Uno, pockets felt like sumo

Taylor Gang or die, Jet la, la, la, la...

My homies, we sold pills, the motive is chrome wheels

Pullin' up to Club Live, makin' them hoes peel

My niggas was way trill, wardrobe was unreal

My Cuban was Spanish gold, so vintage was my Gazelles

I'm talkin' The Facts of Life, can I just have a slice?

Backseats at the game, 'Bron havin' a night

Let 'em go check the stats, 'cause all I want is the racks

Even movin' the merch, I'm gettin' sixty a hat

MCM on my luggae, Reebok makin' me butter

Be hittin' Cuban cigars, bumbaclot, he think he does this

Double M, we the hottest on the fuckin' turf

I'm goin' straight to Heaven, crib built like a church

Pull up in that... and them bitches start choosin'

Choosin', choosin', choosin', choosin'

Pull off in that... and them haters gon' lose it

Lose it, lose it, lose it, lose it