1738, ayy I'm like, "hey, what's up, hello" Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in the door I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll Married to the money, introduced her to my stove Showed her how to whip it, now she remix it for low She my trap queen, let her hit the bando We be counting up, watch how far them bands go We just set a goal, talking matching lambos At 56 a gram, 5 a hundred grams though Man, I swear I love her how she work that damn pole Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go Everybody hating, we just call them fans though In love with the money, I ain't never letting go And I get high with my baby (my baby) I just left the mall I'm getting fly with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby (my baby) I be in the kitchen cooking pies with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby I just left the mall, I'm getting fly with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby I be in the kitchen cooking pies I'm like, "Hey, what's up? Hello" I hit the strip with my trap queen 'cause all we know is bands I just might snatch up a 'Rari and buy my boo a Lamb' I might just snatch her a necklace, drop a couple on a ring She ain't wantin' for nothin' because I got her everything It's Big ZooWap from the bando, remind me where I can't go Remy Boyz got the stamp though, count up hella them bands though Boy, how far can your bands go? Fetty Wap, I'm living fifty thousand K, how I stand tho If you checking for my pockets, I'm like And I get high with my baby (my baby) I just left the mall I'm getting fly with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby (my baby) I be in the kitchen cooking pies with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby (my baby) I just left the mall, I'm getting fly with my baby, yeah And I can ride with my baby (my baby) I be in the kitchen cooking pies I'm like, "hey, what's up, hello" Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in the door I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll Married to the money, introduced her to my stove Showed her how to whip it, now she remix it for low She my trap queen, let her hit the bando We be counting up, watch how far them bands go We just set a goal, talking matching lambos At 56 a gram, 5 a hundred grams though Man, I swear I love her how she work that damn pole Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go Everybody hating, we just call them fans though In love with the money, I ain't never letting go I be smoking dope and you know Backwoods what I roll Remy Boy Fetty eating shit up, that's fasho I'll run in your house, then I'll fuck your ho Re-Remy Boyz or nothin', Re-Re-Remy Boyz or nothin', yeah Yeah, you hear my boy Soundin' like a zillion bucks on the track I got whatever on my boy, whatever Put your money where your mouth is Money on the wood make the game go good Money out of sight cause fights Put up or shut up, huh? Nitt Da Gritt, huh, RGF Productions Squad