"Out On Bond" lyrics

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah (Oh)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Bitch, I'm not talkin' 'bout iPhone when I just said I made an air drop (Damn, damn, damn)
V-VVS fit with them teardrops (Damn, damn)
Fuckin' your ho and I'm makin' her bed rock (Damn)
I read the money, fuck a bookshop
I'm makin' edibles in a crockpot
Dolce Gabbana my flip-flops
Whippin' that pot, nigga, 'til my wrist lock
Got long hair, I don't got a flat top
Love totin' guns 'cause my brother chop
I do not fuck with 911, I do not see myself being a cop
I only see myself at the top
I just see fuck niggas being opps
I'm a young nigga, Sir Flex-a-Lot
When in the fuck the beat gon' drop? (Woo)
Where my bros with a thot?
Flex music, no, this not hip-hop
Hit him with a SIG, nigga, and he hip and he hop
Uppin' my pistol when I'm finna hop
Can't trust the plug, nigga, I got set up
I'm goin' through it, you said, "Keep your head up"
Not 'bout these bitches, man, I'm 'bout the cheddar
You know you a bitch, you a rumor spreader
I swear to God I do it better
Two rap bitches, yeah, Salt-N-Pepa
I spent a thousand dollars on a sweater
Just to wear that shit in any weather
Slow, I swear that all of these bitches be slow
Right at the store, right at the Citgo
And I'm in jail, but I don't need stove
'Cause I'm finna bond out, finna go, go, go