WHOA ft. Corey Vintage Lyrics

Posted in the VIP, wit' ya bitch like, "Whoa"

She open up her mouf like the fuckin' letter "O"

She just wanna fuck, 'cause my pockets on swole

Typa money, turnin' all my friends into foes

Word to my nigga Raj, that's just how it go

Walk up in the club with a fat bankroll

Wrist on chill and you know my chain froze

I got the stacks of the settlements

On your back like a letterman

I can rap a lil' medicine

We can match a lil' measurements

And you act a lil' hesitant

I'm the mac of my residence

Ballin', you gotta keep your wallet packed with the presidents

And some white people told me that I'm a *bleep*, that's prolly true

And them and I both are finna go learn what this Tommy do

A crack to the head and I swear to God that I'm fed up

That bitch can dub me, I promise I'll never lose

CV, GT, we the new worst guys

In the kitchen, wrist twistin' like it's fuckin' stir fry

Lil' mama said she wanna ride me like a dirt bike

Now she all over the wood like a fuckin' termite

Used to have hoop-dreams, till I picked up the mic

And started movin' the keys like I was servin' the white

I got your bitch on her knees, she do whatever I like

I'm with my boy Genius T, that boy stay high as a kite

I'm lifted, with a bitch, we ascend our positions, a

Thick trick, said my dick is delish, she a

Ripstick, how she twistin' her hips,

Baby, let me hop up in that booty like a rift, hey, hey

I'm feelin' great, yeah I think I hold a trait of a

Real nigga, ain't none of my niggas fake

I'm the ace of spades in the deck

Silver back, planet of the apes

Beatin' on my chest, yeah, yeah