Forgive Me

(Verse 1) Look We lost fly and got flyier Spendin cash on E Polo White T and my Christian Dijon jeans Those jordan’s don’t impress me, I hoopin dem chicks Fuck fame and the versi’s, I’m just tryin to get rich We lost fly and got flyier Spent cash all week Polo White T and my Christian Dior jeans Those jordan’s don’t impress me, I’m hoop in them shits Fuck fame and the Versace, I’m just tryin to get rich Look I come from the struggle Errbody rap bro, it’s all about your hussle We only blow strong man we smoking on that muscle And bitches ain't real, I don’t love you cuz I don’t trust you Uncle Skoot taught me that, I’m just a young nigga You try to mob man I hope you brought your guns wit cha My niggas hungry, They be juggin tryna make it out I’m livin proof that you could stunt and still be in the drought Just know I’m ridin for my niggas, they won't chalk me out I’m hittin hoes, I’m hittin stains in my Ferragamo Tell dem Thots I’m in the city Get a hundred bottles And I get high everyday cuz we might not see tomorrow Dem Shells hit you Asap if we got fuckin problems (Hook) Aye you fuckin wit a Young nigga Versace Killa Pop dat pussy like a drug girl Its M-O-B I bang the Mob We don’t do love girl We just get money, Fuck dese bitches and dey homegirls I’m buyin Fendi Please forgive me I’m a young nigga Versace Killa Pop dat pussy like a drug girl Its MOB I bang the Mob We don’t do love girl We just get money, Fuck dese bitches and dey homegirls I’m buyin Fendi Please forgive me (Verse 2) Look, Aye look that young nigga Rico One hunnid like a c-note Control shit like a remote, Choppers big as D-bol Beat em down, I shoot cha down No squares when we come around We don’t blow dem 50 sacks, Bitch we smoke it by the pound Music weed guns loud Turnin up no turnin down I just spent your rent on shades, Bet dem bitches see me now Errbody on tv, fuck fame, lets get rich Like me rip, that’s Hamilton Got dese hoes naked like Africans I rolled up dey pop beans All these hoes be doin dicks, all these thots be fuckin tricks I mean so much, this shit is sick Put that bitch on back page Bought the MOB J’s the next day Don’t be mad at her mane cuz she played your ass like 2k Last week we brought 2k’s, been off the drink for 2 days My OG crib like a gun range My money fast like mustangs I’m sippin lean like Pimp C Runnin shit like 6 feet Versace ring on my trigger finger When I shoot shit it’s still designer All these hoes want a hot boy, on fire, smoking fire Man we just some young niggas whose getting rich and getting high Cross da mob and you meeting God In the Fendi store like I need it all WNBA shit, dey know all my bitches ball Girl fuck wit Young and I get your life together I’m a fly mothafucker, I could prolly change the weather And I still don’t get dress, I just put shit together And a skirt is still a skirt, don’t give a fuck if dat bitch is leather (Hook x3)