"Gossip Girl" lyrics

(I know you may find this hard to believe, but not everyone wants to go to Yale, because not everyone wants to be Blair Waldorf)
(Not everyone can be)

I saran up some money
U.K., do a show in London
Pump fake, make his ass start jumpin'
Money spread, got racks, them hundreds
Stick poke out like Tim Duncan
Yeah, you know you not hard, stop frontin'
Big-big 'Tect, yeah, I'm the one
Feel like I'ma crash, feel like I'ma plunge
Me and my twin rock out like grunge
I had nothin', had to make it somethin'
Take that boy gun before his stick get bumped
You fell for the bait, that lil' boy dumb
I love when they try catch up, it look dumb
Got piles of money, these racks in clumps
808 Heartbreak, are you hearin' the drums?
Duckin' your head, you hearin' them guns?
B-B-Brink's truck and it's carryin' tons
My blood foreign, we speakin' in tongues
I carry heat like the Suns, yeah
Don't try run up, don't you dare
Ball Hog gang, we rare
We go up like stairs
My ho gossipin' like Blair
She want me to pay for her hair
We boxed the whip, I need some air
My hood dangerous, don't stay here
Ball Hog, baby, I don't have no fear
Glock with a switch, I'ma make shit clear
I'm off codeine, it's hard to steer
Big-ass diamonds in my ear
My ho gossipin' like Blair
She want—

Uh
Uh
Uh, uh, uh, yeah
(I know you may find this hard to believe, but not everyone wants to go to Yale, because not everyone wants to be Blair Waldorf)
(Not everyone can be)