OYSTERS

You don't know lonely til your girlfriend ghost you

That type of shit'll make a bitch go postal

Talking to your ex she live on another coast though

Still found a way to creep into your socials

Cut you out my life and I don't mean to be hostile

My next level bitch make you feel insecure

My text message list kinda look like a brothel

No more bitches trife with intentions impure

Eleven elevens used to wish you'd wife me

Now a bitch wish to be married to the game

My price going up likely I put it on my name

My money can't fit the frame give a fuck about the fame