MONEY BAGS FREESTYLE

[Intro]

Is this guy serious?

Is this guy serious, or what?

[Chorus: Dean Blunt]

Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands

Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands

Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands

Twenty bands, twenty bands, twenty bands

Let it out, let it out, let it out

[Verse: A$AP Rocky]

I foresee the jealousy all in your eyes for sure

Sure, they don't want to beef with my physique or my .44

Sure, life is sweet, I'm by the beach, sand all on the feet

By the seat, the time we meet, we'll leave em' by the shore

Sure, pop a bean em' right to sleep sheets of my decor

With privacy, she grind on me and sweep on my rapport, whore

Drama by the front door, pushing out the back door

Trapping out the bando, leave em' by the trap door

Money bags, money bags

Ten bands, ten bands, ten bands (ten bands)

Drop the babies in the car seat, must be the Courvoisier

Tap on your bustier, valeting Cartier

Car keys to the Murcielago and Courtier

Wake up thankful everyday, feel like Sydney Poitier

Ayy ayy, soundbite, soundbite, woo

Cheat code, cheat code, L1, down, right

Damn right, damn right

The nigga who your sound like, sound like

Demons fucking up my focus

Head vultures, precious death, death rows

Pockets full of dead folks

Prada soles full of dead roaches

And some cud I stepped on

Waiting for her to get left

On the same place, dead bodies get left on

But woke niggas get slept on

Broke niggas get flexed on

I really wish she had less on

I might fuck her with a dress on

Scratching on me with her press-ons

We ain't stopping til' the next song

Next song, next song, next song

[Outro: Lil Yachty]

Ten bands, ten bands

Money bags, money bags

Money bags, money bags

Ten bands, ten bands

Ten bands, ten bands

Ricky Owens on me look like Dom Pér

St. Laurents on me, I don't wear Vans