Phone Numbers (feat. BTB Savage) - BabyRokk

So young you could cry, you type on your cellular device The blue light caught your eye the same way it caught mine Felt it one second then it faded Back into my head where it was created So bright I went blind from the strain on my eyes Stared into the light 'til the battery died Felt it one second then it faded Back into my head where it was created (The man on the telephone is angry) Pick up the phone

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 nigga, I handle biz On fire, like a candle is Niggas be dressing off the manikin Hmmm, and I get fresh like where them Camera's is Better yet sandwiches, bad bitch Spanish Friends Coulda been the President, rather be the Man instead Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' Like phone numbers Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' Like phone numbers (You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a Million) I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' Millions (You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a Million) I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' Millions Time 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 talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' Millions (You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a Million) I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' Millions (You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million, Whaaaaaat) Trae Tha Truth] I'm in the hood [?] on this something corner Surfing Float, no water, my trunk is waving, I'm Polar surfing Blowing faces, I'm shittin' 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'm a 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 Showin' out Don't tell me get 'em, I got em and I'm a Throw 'em 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 That she was hiding in it Shrimp, steak, liquor and pasta Real shit boi, these niggas imposters They deserve an Oscar, Kevin Costner Oh my God sir, what? I got this and that and everything I want Like I got a hostage, yeh Countin' 7 digits, no wonder why the money Calling Got ya bitch panties Niagra fallin' Dollars cum 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 d-cking the Paint I'm poppin' champagne and puffin' on dank Shining hard, boy, these niggas gotta see Me My dick hard, your bitch is easy (Boi, boi, boi)