"Farm To Table" lyrics

Ayy, bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (Uh)
Smoke straight from the farm, I'm on my growth shit

Ayy, Reposado to sip, how much I pour ya?
She in the Oscar de la Renta
I might have to De La Hoya
Call my lawyer, don't even ask me
Nigga, I came fashionably late, our style was Condé Nast
That Pyrex with tight neck, swallow my breath
Hers was more of an architectural digest
I digress with our chest
We both get to speakin' our minds
All kind of interior designs
Superior grapes from inferior vines
Switchin' time zones, these is curious times
It's loose noodles, no furious spoons
Fuck the waves if I could bury the moon, I mean
Shit is gettin' very cartoon

I keep this bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (Uh)
Smoke straight from the farm, I'm on my growth shit

No boat made our own waves
You hot or cold, no lukewarm
Can't have nobody foldin' more coat hangers my way
No low-hangin' fruit here
I palm trees to the face, won't speak hate to my face
Y'all on some ho shit (Ho shit)

Bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (I smoke my own shit, man, what's it called? 93 Boyz)
Smoke straight from the farm, I'm on my growth shit (Oh, you ain't heard?)

Uh-huh
This shit from farm to table
Had to run it up, I never harmed an ankle
And a distribution chain so major, I could start a label
We done got the 93 Boyz hotter than Coral Gables
Sometimes I wish I could take a weekend off, but I'm hardly able
Louis Vuitton liaisons, the Pyer Moss, out of reach of the D.A.'s arms
At Paris Fashion Week far preceding you rappers even havin' seats
It's a Amoako Boafo, the shit a masterpiece, I'm fine arts' Master P (Uh)
Sidebar Kassius Kayne, my large bag of dreams
My daddy went Yankee, his son slangin' gasoline
A million in the first three months (Damn)
That's like two billion streams
We blowin' up like Israel did to Philistines
Gaza Strip, mobbin' through Bethlehem and I'm rockin' Ricks
They been owin' us for the way they plundered the continent
Got the world buyin' plane tickets off of my Ghana trips
I been walking it, my nigga, now let me talk my shit

Bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (No bitch, uh, woo)
93 from the farm, I smoke my own shit, yeah

Yeah
Yeah
Yeah