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Phone Numbers (ft. Trae Tha Tru)

I cop me one, cop me one for my old girl

You think she my newest bitch, she my old girl

Khalifa, a younger nigga who handle his

Hoes get in my car, ask what the channel is

Boss shit, look that up my nigga, I handle biz

On fire, like a candle is

Niggas be dressing off the mannequin

Hmm, and I get fresh like where them camera's is?

Better yet sandwiches, bad bitch Spanish friends

Could of been the President, rather be the man instead[Chorus]

Now when I get paid, my checks be looking like phone numbers

Now when I get paid, my checks be looking like phone numbers

(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)

I'm talking millions, nigga I'm talking millions

(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)

I'm talking millions, nigga I'm talking millionsTime is money so I went and bought a Rolex (Bought a Rolex)

Time is money so I went and bought a Rolex (Bought a Rolex)

I'm talking millions, nigga I'm talking millions

(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)

I'm talking millions, nigga I'm talking millions

(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million, what?)I'm in the hood off this something that's corner surfing

Float, no water, my trunk is waving, I'm polar surfing

Blowing faces, I'm shitting on them diamond infested

Time is money, peep the wrist bitch, my time is invested

I'm still the king and I'm thugged out

Any block, any club, I flood it out

I ain't the one for competition, I'ma blow it out

I'm going hard, I don't ever plan on going out

I'm getting money, probably something you don't know about

I stunt hard, you would swear that I was showing out

Don't tell me get them, I got them and I'ma throw them out

And back door on these hoes that I was warning out

While I'm in this machine, convert the top

Tell them that the sky is the limit

With a four of freaks, she got her face in my lap

So deep you would think she was hiding in it[Chorus]Shrimp, steak, liquor, and pasta

Real shit boy, these niggas imposters

They deserve a Oscar, Kevin Costner

Oh my God sir, what?

I got this and that and everything I want like I got a hostage, yeah

Counting seven digits, no wonder why the money calling

Got your bitch panties Niagara falling

Dollars come like I fuck in the bank

I told them I could, they tell me I can't

They want me to trip when I'm ducking the paint

I'm popping champagne, and puffing on dank

Shining hard, boy, these niggas got to see me

My dick hard, your bitch is easy[Chorus]

Songwriters

Cameron ThomazPublished by

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