Letras
Brr, brrrr, brrr
Ring, ring, ring, post man
Who this? (Nash effect)
Telephone call from Yung Carti, said it's lit
Call the Young Lord, A$AP Bari, he legit (money bag)
And the young boy Ian Connor off the shit (Young Lord)
Fuckin' with them boys out of Harlem or the six
This is Gosha, man I pay for pussy? No sir
Ridin' coaster, roller coaster, chauffeur
I got money bags
I'ma bag your bitch, I'ma buy your bitch
(I got money bags, turn up, turn up)
I'ma cash this shit, I'ma cash this shit
(I got money bags, turn up, turn up)
Cash Carti, bitch, Cash Carti, bitch (Carti, Carti)
You can have this shit, you can have this shit (what you want? Yuh)
Godfather rap, nappy plaits to the back
James Brown swag, Papa's got a brand-new bag
And I don't know how to act
On or off the record, might go axe
Harlem back up on the map
True New York will knock the Apple out you Jacks
Pop your Snapple cap, pop facts
Gucci and Dior biddin' wars
Who order a piece before they hit the floor
Not even shit you see overseas in stores
Who else with me? I know you seen the force
I'm in Gibral', I been the Lord
Holy tabernacle, missiles snap your favorite rapper
Greedy for the fat guy's platter
Killin' niggas even though black lives matter
Weak stomach, flow make 'em throw up
Steppin' stones, I'm your stepfather
Tell Tyler, better step his flow up
Mix the pour up with the Pepsi Cola
Nextel or the Motorola
Young nigga prolly never grow up
Post man with the telephone, uh
Ring, ring, ring, post man
Who this?
Fuck with Taco, fuck with Jasper
Fuck with Lionel, man, that shit is gon' get sketchy
Shirt is striped, my shorts are short
My Vans are Vans 'cause Tyler does not fuck with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci, fuck the Ralph
And fuck the swag and all that other shit they wearin'