170 LRA2

(We Got London On The Track)

(I'm In London, Got My Beat From London)

Uh, thirty in my body, bussin'-bussin'-bussin', yeah

Choppa on me, yeah it's bussin'-bussin'-bussin', yeah

You ain't talkin' money, no discussion, 'scussion, yeah

I'ma fuck that bitch until she cummin', cummin', yeah

Keep my hand on my pole as I watch her dance all on the pole

Locked and loaded, .40, blow it, yeah, I'm down to go

Won't let a nigga or a bitch put they hands on my soul

I fly, I don't fall

I fly, I don't fall

Now's a good time to talk to momma on a song, sorry mom, I admit I did coke

Sorry mom, I admit I did pour eight in a fuckin' twenty ounce, oh, no

I put my pain in that fuckin' twenty ounce, I know

She mix the purple with the white, call that shit a snow cone

She know my money lo-o-ong

I fly, I don't fall

I fly, I don't fall

For that green I shoot you in your face, nigga I'm Larry Birdy

For the team, I'm bound to catch a case and leave the tooly squirting

Throw the green, she dancin' in the club, she got her booty twerkin'

I ain't even wanna go to the club, I'm a different person

Every time I walk into the club, I got Molly workin'

I'm in too deep, when we fuck, I'm a Molly surgeon

Maybe I should put the drugs down, I got a bigger purpose, uh-huh, allow me to prioritize

I fly, I don't fall

I fly, I don't fall