Pups

(アルバム： Floor Seats - 2019)

Arf, arf, arf

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (Right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Now where my dawgs at?
(Frankie Mothafucking P)

I said get at me
I'm talking to you niggas with that rap beef
Get at me
Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne
Get at me
Never tacky, jeans made by Acne
Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis

It's about to get uglier than Balenciagas
Felt bad I never finished college
Now we fucking cuties with booties in Dapper Dan silk pajamas
Living the dream, open up your eyelids
Me and Flacko on a island with a few bad bitches
How my cousin make a mil' off a du-rag business?
All my dawgs with the shit, you with a few cat litters
All the yellow with the black like the Wu back (Su)

Back when I was renting beds, I was still catching head
If I was bussing dishes, I'd be still fucking bitches
Boof pack, gift wrapped just like Christmas
Gone for a minute, now I'm back, did you miss me?
Had the whole Harlem World wearing Under Armours
Under the armors, I'm a pretty mothafucking comma
Gorgeous comma, pretty much about to fuck your mama
Kinda running late for this meeting with Obama
I ain't mean it to rhyme, but call me when your mind right
Meet me with your romper, CC me when the vibe right
More money, more problem, more chopper, more drama
And I got these hoes, feeling like Mo Bamba

Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)

Who gon' do what? My dawgs gon' tool up
Nigga, look out, 'cause look down like one, two, fucked
And we don't give two fucks
Where I'm from, you lunch, you food
Niggas called your bluff
Pockets Warren Buffett, security guard too buff
I like my songs screwed up
I own a gold toothbrush, I get my gold tooth buffed
I'ma stomp a nigga out in Timberland nubuck
Young Buck, too buck, Benz truck, new truck
Big horns, tuba, more good than Cuba
They tried to hit us like Huey with the armpits up
But we swerved through the bullets, get your targets up
Hood Pope up in this bitch, in Trap Lord we trust

Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)
Now where my dawgs at? (We right here, dawg)

I said get at me
I'm talking to you niggas with that rap beef
Get at me
Ostrich-skin seats like it's acne
Get at me
Never tacky, jeans made by Acne
Fuck Governor Pataki and Patakis