Lyrics Know Me - Nav

Balenci' (Hmm), shoe size on my toe
They know me (Hmm), everywhere I go
Codeine (Hmm), double cup, make her toast
Got rackies, gettin' bags coast to coast

Elliot lit my wrist up, diamond rings cover my fist up
After she suck my dick (What?)
She get kicked out, get kicked up
I ain't cuffing that bitch (No)
That ain't on my agenda
Met that bitch in LA, but I fucked her in Atlanta

30 pointers in my chain, goin' fast in my own lane
Like Gunna, I drip insane
Make a smart girl give me brain
Let the Perkys kill my pain
Break a hundred, tell her keep the change
Now the Gucci store know my name
Hottest brown boy in the game

Got two chains, my diamonds glistenin'
VV's hit like Bisping
I just wanna fuck, no kissing
Peasant bitches can't kiss kings (Yeah)
No cash register, pockets on ching-ching (Yeah)
Might've fucked that bitch, but she ain't my ting-ting
Let the bitch sneak a Snap
Let her boyfriend know she with me
Say I look like a snack
Diamonds on baseball bat, they hitting (Bling-bling, yeah)
No cash register, pockets on ching-ching (Ching-ching, yeah)
Might've fucked that bitch, but she ain't my ting-ting

I'm TT (Hmm), rolling up the dope
Bad bitch freaky (Hmm), grab the bitch by her throat
Ice my pinky (Uh), AP flooded I need a boat
Get shot like Ricky (Hmm), takin' a brown boy for a joke

Gucci stripes all on me, cost me 80 for one sock
First time I tried to cook it, lost my re-up inside the pot
See, 12 and I always book it, had a dream I was in a cell
Pay 80 racks and book me, you know all my tickets gon' sell (Yeah)

Balenci' (Hmm), shoe size on my toe
They know me (Hmm), everywhere I go
Codeine (Hmm), double cup, make her toast
Got rackies, gettin' bags coast to coast

Got two chains, my diamonds glistenin'
VV's hit like Bisping
I just wanna fuck, no kissing
Peasant bitches can't kiss kings (Yeah)
No cash register, pockets on ching-ching (Yeah)
Might've fucked that bitch, but she ain't my ting-ting
Let the bitch sneak a Snap
Let her boyfriend know she with me
Say I look like a snack
Diamonds on baseball bat, they hitting (Bling-bling, yeah)
No cash register, pockets on ching-ching (Ching-ching, yeah)
Might've fucked that bitch, but she ain't my ting-ting