Lyrics JUGGERNAUT (feat. Lil Uzi Vert & Pharrell Williams) - Pharrell Williams , Lil Uzi Vert , Tyler, The Creator

Hey, Miss Parker
Wait, wait, wait, wait
Somethin′ like (uh-oh)
I just cut some fresh lemons, where's the sugar?
Lemon in my ′ade, lemon in my ears, call 'em boogers
Rather six feet 'fore I′m ever seen with you niggas... (hold up)
Yeah
What it is? It′s that nigga T, skin look colored in (woo)
Riding in double-double R, that's that Cullinan (yeah)
Pulling in that four hundred grand, I just ordered this (yeah)
Switzerland, Lake Geneva where I spend my summer in (true story)
Golf le Fleur, that′s Gianno shoe, what I'm running in
Earlobe look like headlights on a new van (Gangsta Grillz)
I′m so motherfucking dead-ass, I need some Timberlands (woo)
I battle any man, Uzi Vert, don't think they understand (yeah, yeah)
Uh (skrrt, cool), double C on my feet
Double G on my freak (ooh), Louis V by my briefs
She wan′ kick it with me, she better eat it then leave (leave, whoa)
She try save all the plates but keep eatin' my meat
We can't see none the road, she keep eatin′ my seeds (woo)
Got a E and a B on the back of the seat
See, I′m done with the 12, got a V16 (uh)
Say the money coming in, yeah, that's true
The more money I get, I don′t wan' sex you
Can′t think about the last time that I text you
It's probably when Sidekicks had them belt loops
Sign my John Hancock on a bitch every time I check you
Just like a brand new Lamb′, I wreck you, uh
So what's mine is yours (woo, woo, woo)
Ride to the dinner taping
Outta time and imagine her in the exit
Last deal more than what Google say my net is
I got chatter with the chef in the tinted exit (like, whoa)
Yeah, uh, uh, uh, whoa
It's double P, I rock double C
Man, I run them beats like you run in cleats
Man, come to me, you want somethin′ to see
This internally flawless of double Vs
What troubles me is you couple me
With these subtle fleas tryna double the
Hornet trapped in the hive of a motherfuckin′ bumblebee
They just got the closest picture of the fuckin' sun surface, that was us
Got the LaFerrari, park that bitch just for one purpose, catchin′ dust
My Secret Service carry mops, you call 'em street sweepers, back you up
Tat′ you up, then add you up, then give you a cover like Adwoa
If the shit's fake, I don′t respect it, it's clickbait
And that's distaste like a shit shake
What a difference your wrist make when it′s Richard-made
Hungry eyes tend to fixate like a empty stomach for a fish plate
Shit-faced, get this straight, this is truck wheels that grip tape
Ride to the dinner taping
Outta time and imagine her in the exit (why you even talkin′ to us?)
Last deal more than what Google say my net is (goddamn)
I got chatter with the chef in the tinted exit
Uh, uh, uh