707 ft. Frid The Kid Lyrics

(Woah, yeah, woah, yeah, yeah)

808 to the 707

Cross him up send his ankles to heaven

Damn, who did it? It was number eleven

(Woah)

With my niggas yeah we goin' to heaven

He a lame, a loser like Kevin

All my shooters, yeah we cookin' like Stephen

Talk is cheap so we not even sweatin'

Try to play D but that weakass was pressin'

Blick all your homies, one hundred to seven

Block all these bitches, I hate all the textin'

In the lab, yeah we cookin' like Devin

Got a tech, cuz of all the aggression

Double tap, Instagram your obession

Hated class, cuz of all the oppression

Late nights, cuz of all the depression

Got through it, cuz the basketball sessions

On the bench, now I'm a starter, progression

Grind to the top, cuz I wanted perfection

Makin' mistakes had to learn all my lessons

Learned all my lessons, when I was a freshman

Make an impression, like Usher "Confession"

Why would I question when I am successin'?

Turned that depression, into motivation

Life is long, man what's my duration?

Covid year, In my car graduation

Felt bad, so they sent me donations

From the jump, man i knew you was flakin'

Stay connected like a triangle, adjacent

Stackin' my green like an ape yeah I'm bapin

Told her "say cheese", but instead she was shakin'

(Woah, yeah, woah, yeah, yeah)

808 to the 707

Cross him up send his ankles to heaven

Damn, who did it? It was number eleven

(Woah)

With my niggas yeah we goin' to heaven

He a lame, a loser like Kevin

All my shooters, yeah we cookin' like Stephen

Talk is cheap so we not even sweatin'

Try to play D but that weakass was pressin'

Blick all your homies, one hundred to seven

Block all these bitches, I hate all the textin'

And we cookin' like Devin