[Intro: French Montana & Songstress]
Mm, mm-mm, mm-mm
Yeah, yeah
Big bag like Santa Claus
No, no (Hitmaka)
That loopy wave
Yeah, baby
The aroma smell like that Dyckman hookah
Montega, han.
[Verse 1: French Montana]
Black coffee, the glasses same color molasses
Same night at the Aspens (Ah), mami shakin' asses
Far from the hood but close enough to caption (Yeah)
Not the 'Gram one night thousand grand (Yeah)
You do the math
She won't bounce back even if I threw the pass
Lion Head, Medusa mask, han (Han)
I hit the bottom and flip
I got juice, you can bottle me up (Up)
And sell me for a lottery pick (Ah)
We live likе the Vikings, you ain't gettin' far
If you confuse bеtween the hoes and the wifin'
Merge like a hyphen, it ain't about the money (Money)
I ain't tryna lose the excitement
Montana.
[Chorus: Songstress & Fabolous]
Wouldn't get far
I tried but I wouldn't get far
My bad that I didn't get far
It's my fault that I didn't get far
I tried but I didn't get far (You see everybody ain't gon' make it)
My bad that I didn't get far
My fault that I didn't get far (It's a fact of life and you gotta respect that, yo OG tell 'em)
I tried but I didn't get far, didn't get far (But don't let it hold you back though, look, yeah).
[Verse 2: Fabolous]
For the hood niggas front of bodegas in leathers (Yeah)
For the bad bitches dressed in Bottega Veneta (Yeah)
This that real shit that you bootleggers could never (Could never)
This that cold summer, this ain't no regular weather (Woo)
We made positives out of a negative era (For real)
Boys I'm runnin' with, we used to play Sega together (For real)
You can catch me and French out in Vegas for cheddar
Beat the streets and got paid like McGregor, Mayweather
Uh, pray when I get in the car
'Cause a lot of niggas tried but they didn't get far
You know the alphabet boys always spittin' them bars
Gotta stay on your P's and Q's when you're settin' them odds
And that's why I'm in the Cullinan (Yeah)
With the shotguns where you stick the umbrellas in, I hope it don't rain
Streets got love for me, hope it don't change
But I know they take shots with a scope at close range
Like I know these fly bitches love open-toe wings
And the money change shit like remote controls, man (Man)
Came through all-white, poppin' gold chains
I was givin' out shit like the Oprah show came (Look)
Drip can't save you if they aimin' to kill it
They'll shoot at the low goal like they Damian Lillard (Uh)
This goes out to those who should've got further
Locked up or got murdered, I gotta do it since.
[Chorus: Songstress]
Recent comments