Exotic Problems Lyrics

Ha! Yeah

Alright, come on man

Yeah

Ay, you went and bought yourself a pistol and think you John Gotti

I'm high right now, you say something to me I'll just nod probably

Game on the line, gotta pass or shoot, I'd throw the lob probably

I'm scared of you, I ain't never seen you out, you a odd body

Before the Scats get discontinued, I need a wide body

Negotiating deals over the phone, I can't even sign properly

Seen Apple Music deleted your last tape, well that's a sign probably

The fuck you talking about? Rapping's my job, you got a rhyme hobby

My Uber said I smell like weed, I'm gonna report the driver

You burning rubber in your ride, can't even afford new tires

Your phone dead, you don't got the buyers to support your supplier

Ain't trying to talk, I blamed it on the service, I got a poor provider

What the fuck does it entail for me, you got none to provide

Nothing pisses me off worse than losing money and homies that lie

Gucci snakes, the only serpents around, I done cut all those ties

I think you got a problem with exotic, you only smoking on Fryds

Which thousand dollar fit I'm gonna put on, I got exotic problems

Pay my homage to these dead presidents, pour some out the bottle

Done made some money every day this week, hold on

Made some money yesterday and made some more today, guess what I'll do tomorrow

Send the lo, bitch, I'm tryna go, let's go turn up the party

What happens in here, stay in here, don't tell it to nobody

Phone on DND, while I get pape and focus on my calling

I've been on my game since preseason and I ain't off it often

I'm too real, gon' put the hood on like I'm Luke Cage

Gotta watch your people like some rollies, how they two-faced

Off-white, but the shoes black and they say shoelace

Fighting with his demons, getting whooped, he throwing mood swings

Bro evil, on some Joker shit and I'm like Bruce Wayne

Why you did it, and how you feel about it, let me know two things

Twin done lost his bitch the same day, he got a new flame

My chain snapped, gon' come back shining harder with my new chain

Some shit just can't be spoken on, so don't talk about that

Open carry law got passed in Florida, I gotta watch my back

On my Skilla shit, I'm screaming, "Huh", you ain't talking about cash

Let me see my money, bro, I promise, the Za in the bag

Your friends hoes, so why you hanging around them if you ain't that

Honestly, I'm a stand-up guy, but I've been laid back

Celebrating, getting to the green just like I'm St. Pat

The bag ain't in my dreams or otherwise you'd see me take naps

The 50's pinker than a fuck, look like Majin Buu

Where the fuck you going in that whip? You put one on two

Balling out, shooting steady green like Raejean Rondo do

You know the drill, I told him let's meet up at the rendezvous

The spot, like the shot clock got to watch your move

Cutting up in rush hour traffic, getting up on through

Dropped the blunt and lost all of my weed, I'm in a fucked-up mood

Bro done lost his wife, he tore up, know he fucked up too

Come on man

Yeah

Fuck you talking bout?