[Intro: DB.Boutabag]
Ayy, you got a wack jumper
All that pillow talkin' on the 'Gram and you ain't slap nothin'
You know my n***as in the building, you see racks bustin'
And I'm smokin' dope before my shows like I'm David Ruffin
We can't contact
You ain't talkin' blues, lil' baby, we can't contact
Bitch, I'm right through that— skrrt
Bitch, I'm right through that road like a lineback
Bitch, I'm— why you ask that?
And I'm still— uh
Used to fuck the— they broke up, now we back fuckin'
Ayy, n***a—
Paranoid behind tint clutchin' and this bitch Russian
(Ayy, I'm Boutabag, ain't gotta ask me)

[Verse 1: DB.Boutabag]
I'm just a Boutabag n***a, why you ask that? (Why you ask that that?)
In them trenches still, twin got that trap jumpin' (Twin got that trap jumpin')
Used to fuck the bitch, they broke up, now we back fuckin' (Now we back fuckin')
Paranoid behind tint clutchin' and this bitch Russian (And this bitch Russian)
Ayy, n***a, you got a wack jumper (You got a wack jumper)
All that pillow talkin' on the 'Gram and you ain't slap nothin' (You ain't slap nothin')
You know my n***as in the building, you see racks bustin' (You see racks bustin')
And I'm smokin' dope before my shows like I'm David Ruffin (Bitch, I'm gettin' klocked)
Baby gettin' thundered off this contact (Off this contact)
You ain't talkin' bluеs, lil' baby, we can't contact (N***a, you can't contact)
Bitch, I'm right through that road like a lineback (Likе a lineback)
And I'm tryna hit your old lady, where your mom at? (Bitch, where your mom at?)
Ayy, 'cause I'm gon' run it over (I'm gon' run it over)
You in her purse off a pill, I'm in her while she sober (I'm in her while she sober)
You don't hang out with no Benjis, all you n***as loners (You n***as bums)
N***as only hard around a bitch, but he don't keep a blower (Ain't got the pole)
Ayy, is you goofy? Pause (N***a)
Brother out here trippin', he keep stick in his drawers (He keep stick in his drawers)
Three hoes (Three hoes), call him Santa Claus (N***a)
Fuck a broke bitch, yeah, this rich dick ain't for y'all (Ain't for y'all)
You see these deadstock kicks? I ain't get 'em from the mall (I ain't get 'em from the mall)
Lil' 'Sace belt, keep a pair of Ethis for the drawers (Keep a— for the drawers)
She lookin' at me now, sound like round of applause (Goals)
These bitches say I'm poppin', say my locs gettin' long (Go, go, go)
Wasn't fuckin' with me, I was on my ass, bitch, you wrong (Bitch, you wrong)
N***a speakin' on his bag, we gotta get him gone, ayy (Get that n***a)
Slim thick bad bitch, Nia Long (Ah)
Bitch, I'm klocked in this bitch, Cheech & Chong (Bitch, I'm klocked)
I'm gon' fuck, now she need some Blues Clues, bitch, I'm gone (I gotta go)
I remember days tryna bust a trap all alone (Ayy, I'm to the neck)
Eyes on the road, don't answer on no phones (Don't answer on no phones)
I'm the shit, now I always talk shit on microphones (Talk shit on microphones)
Two-steppin' in my mode, on my whoadie, he gon' go (I miss my brother)
I think I love Givenchy clothes, I'm off this dog, got me slumped (N***a, don't get smacked)
I ain't playin' limbo, bitch, my eyes gettin' low (I'm in here klocked)
Gang task pulled me over, said, "Sir, we smell smoke," ayy (We smell smoke)
[Interlude: DB.Boutabag]
Ayy, you got a wack jumper
All that pillow talkin' on the 'Gram and you ain't slap nothin'
You know my n***as in the building, you see racks bustin'
And I'm smokin' dope before my shows like I'm David Ruffin
Baby gettin' thundered off this contact
You ain't talkin' blues, lil' baby, we can't contact
Bitch, I'm right through that road like a lineback
And I'm tryna hit your old lady, where your mom at?

[Verse 2: Drakeo the Ruler]
I got Pippi Longstocking in the compact
Just got off the phone with Lil Boat, but this a Yacht-Master
I see you dropped a couple shells, but I shot faster
This Sheneneh, that's a stick, I'm a Glock master
Always see me up in LA, I'm a top rapper
Any foreign you can think of, n***a, I crashed it
You seen us up in 2016, we was not rappin'
We was wildin' in the streets, I done shot rappers
Won't ever see me with a gun, n***a, I'm cappin'
If it don't carry a drum, I cannot have it
Just gave a n***a the business, I ain't no stock owner
Brains all on Wall Street, I ain't no stock broker
Boy, you carryin' a Hi-Point, you is not focused
A hundiddy on his block left the Glock smokin'
All them pictures with them blowers, you do not own one
His mans was a free throw, he got a wack jumper
A hundiddy on his block left the Glock smokin'
All them pictures with them blowers, you do not own one
His mans was a free throw, he got a wack jumper
He pulled up actin' like a bitch, I had to slap on him, ugh
[Outro: DB.Boutabag]
Ayy, you got a wack jumper
All that pillow talkin' on the 'Gram and you ain't slap nothin'
You know my n***as in the building, you see racks bustin'
And I'm smokin' dope before my shows like I'm David Ruffin
Baby gettin' thundered off this contact
You ain't talkin' blues, lil' baby, we can't contact
Bitch, I'm right through that road like a lineback
And I'm tryna hit your old lady, where your mom at?