Songtexte
I'm
not
the
most
decorated
at
the
fashion
show,
But
if
you
have
to
know
If
you
rockin'
Shein
jeans
or
any
Fashion
Nov'
I'll
promptly
ask
your
ass
to
go
It's
not
a
personal
thing,
I'm
tryna
smash
the
hoes
Look,
I
prefer
vintage
I
like
to
blow
bands
on
fits
That
look
like
it
was
thrifted
I
like
the
classic
whips,
Wide
bodies,
Where
you
shift
it
Keep
the
wraps
up
in
the
dash
Like
I'm
preparing
for
Christmas
Got
the
straps
with
my
mans,
Not
into
the
murder
business
Plus
I'm
the
one
with
the
vision
I
told
him,
do
you,
and
I'ma
get
it
Had
him
sleepin'
on
the
dream,
But
now
we
workin'
for
a
livin'
It's
time
to
make
a
killin',
uh,
Pressure
weighin'
heavy
on
me
nowadays
Diamonds
Bought
Mama
stones,
She
said
it's
barbaric
At
least
I'm
not
alone,
I
got
my
Arc'teryx
on
Richmond
after
12
is
like
a
dark
Paris
Parents
doubted
my
music,
They
had
it
hard,
marriage
Mama
mixin'
hard
liquor,
Her
liver
starts
failin'
Turns
out
it's
just
a
fluke,
But
we
were
all
scared
But
dammit,
Daddy
too
busy
to
show
some
solidarity
Fashion
week,
Shit
is
gettin'
that
serious
It's
hectic
over
here,
It's
been
a
bad
year
Rough
patches
like
a
bad
beard
I
had
to
make
a
change
like
cashier
And
clear
the
cache,
And
now
the
cash
here
Fashion
week,
Chic
sweater,
cashmere
Fashion
week
We
casually
pull
masterpieces
off
the
racks
here
I
don't
wanna
embarrass
ya
We
didn't
care,
So
now
you
actin'
out
of
character
Yeah
Fashion
week
Uh
This
ain't
regular
Dior,
I
don't
believe
in
Jesus
I'm
already
crossed
Keep
the
Jesus
pieces
Keep
the
demons
too
I
only
drive
egregious
Bimmers
Is
that
a
Honda
Civic?
I
ain't
mean
to
be
facetious
Face-timing
with
my
shorty
overseas
At
the
Chanel
store
Claiming
that
she
"Over
C's"
'Till
I
send
her
bread
to
make
the
transaction
Now
the
plans
switchin',
I
know
you
wanted
that
clutch
Automatic
transmission
like,
Burberry
trenches
For
my
brothers
in
the
trenches,
like
Mint
vintage
Louis
For
those
who
never
got
a
mention,
like
I
don't
give
a
fuck
about
anybody
pretending,
like
He
claim
he
saw
the
signs,
But
under
false
pretenses
I
don't
get
it
Your
whole
image
fake
You
street,
but
you're
greener
than
whole
spinach
E46,
check
the
windows,
Them
hoes
tinted
I'm
ghost
I
might
go
rogue
with
some
Vogue
women
No
promo,
might
still
go
gold
with
this
Or
platinum
At
this
point
whatever
happens,
happens
Undercover
fashion
dastardly
mixed
with
digi
dashes
And
wicked
Rick
and
Raf
collabs
Fuck
a
Fendi
bag
it's
Fashion
week,
Shit
is
gettin'
that
serious
It's
hectic
over
here,
It's
been
a
bad
year
Rough
patches
like
a
bad
beard
I
had
to
make
a
change
like
cashier
And
clear
the
cache,
And
now
the
cash
here
Fashion
week,
Chic
sweater,
cashmere
Fashion
week
We
casually
pull
masterpieces
off
the
racks
here
I
don't
wanna
embarrass
ya
We
didn't
care,
So
now
you
actin'
out
of
character
Yeah
Fashion
week
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