Cliché - Sts

Yeah, ho Yeah, ho

Yeah, ho Yeah, ho

I’m a groupie fucking, liquor sipping, weed smoking rapper

do it for the love, it’s the money that I’m after

I told ya’ll cocksuckers once before that I’m a bastard

Mother fuck what he say, I’m your favorite cliche

Verses full of fuckery, still can’t nobody fuck with me

I’m all about my cash you cannot get enough from me

Gucci stitches in my jeans, this the lap of luxury

STS on 85, ho I’m sitting comfortably

My bitch in that she look like her

And that, so we got some company

They all up on my stanky leg, let me check my dougie

Then I crank my superman after that I swag and surf

Bitch, I pop my tags on I shop where the stars be

Don’t add me up I’m fly

Ho, I be where Mars be

That’s hella hella hella hot

I be on that Marley

With plastic titty, blonde

I be on them barbie

Zoom on that Yamaha, no this a Harley

Watch it girl, I catch a

Then I’m thinking gnarly

You got to charge that to the game

your bitch ain’t charge me

I breaker break her

Like Alpha, Bravo, Charlie

My arrogance is ignorant

Polo on my cleanliness

I be talking labels I got universal penmanship

Mary gray to yellow lizards

What I wear my linen with

Then give me the co-sign, let’s go to the dealership

White green

Like a bowl of spinach dip

I might buy a small town I was think French

Let go tear the mall down, my bitch into the French shit

We look like some curly fries, damn that might be Jeezy bit

87 32, and I got my kit

Rock a fitted, lean with it

They think I’m weezy sick

I might need a Dr. Dre to come see my immediate

I know they think I’m the shit I saw it when they tweeted it

Gain ten, and lost one

There they go deleting it

Boy, ain’t that a dirty game

You’re down right devious

A-T-L,

I am what you need in this

Your favorite rapper in the lab like ashes on my petri dish