Pussy (feat. Big Sean & Pusha T) - The-Dream

Yeah, King Push I could tell you what the Porsche cost, what my wrist like What a brick weigh, what your bitch like Ace bottles and late models, niggas happy with the base model Fashion God from fake model, they follow I'm the culture, KRS in a 'Rosta Poetry, Scott La Rock with the coca, I'm the joker My bitch got the poker face, she a soldier Might let you fuck just so she can show me the safe Yugh! I did live through drug wars, open suicide doors Fuck the bitch on mink floors but it ain't enough Yugh! Seen the world on these tours, Porsche paying 'til I bought Yugh! I partied off shores but it ain't enough Motivate or I can be a menace, you got two choices I got one chopper, I'm hearing voices I'm seeing visions, these Rolls Royces In arms reach, I come creep, these snakes are poisonous Oyster perpetual lifestyle, look at the watch on me right now Bezel blinding like a bright cloud It's a drug dealer's dream Everything that I say is everything that I mean Let's weigh it up Check, kilogram on the neck, money, power, respect Real shooter's on deck, but it ain't enough Yes, man I just got the text, she's just waiting, undressed Her girlfriend brought the checks, she ain't enough Everybody get the tech, all you niggas hit the deck Bitches think he got next, but it ain't enough Haters still wanna test, but I just say, "Fuck the rest" Always gave her my best, but it ain't enough

Ayy Tell Ayy, got one? Ayy, tell On a spell Purple jet Purple jet I'ma run right through this paper I'ma run right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Go cop me a jet Go cop me a jet I'ma run right through this paper I'ma go right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Young nigga cop him a TEC Cop me a jet I spent two milla on where I rest I got two hundred up on my neck Dual exhausts like Twin Towers On that Carerra I cause a jet Please call 9-1-1 You know this a Turbo S Still got the scale, nigga Feel like I'm Virgo-esque I might fuck up a check on her If we kick it, David Beck on her That's my Becky with the good hair Say King Push done went left on 'em All designers, not a problem Ask Desiigner, I signed him (true) Billboard's a jungle gym Sat back and watch 'em climb 'em It's Nobu on his charter Crab roll starters (no chopsticks) Main course was from Malaysian open waters Apollo jets, you just jet smarter Love the money And I'm married to the game, meet me at the altar I'ma run right through this paper I'ma run right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Go cop me a jet Go cop me a jet I'ma run right through this paper I'ma go right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Young nigga cop him a TEC Cop me a jet I'ma run right through this paper I'ma run right through this paper Right through a check (check, check) I'ma go cop me a TEC (TEC, TEC) Milly gon' cop him a TEC (TEC, TEC) For them new shoes, die for respect I'ma run right through this paper I'ma run right through this paper Ballin' hard like the Lakers Givin' bitch nigga no favors You gettin' hit with the razors He gettin' hit with the shaver Ballin' hard like the Pacers Niggas talkin' like they raised us None of 'em raised us I'ma get right to this paper I'ma get right through this paper Run through a check I'ma go die for respect Bitch nigga hit like the ref For them new shoes, die for respect I'ma run right through this paper I'ma run right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Go cop me a jet Go cop me a jet I'ma run right through this paper I'ma go right through this paper Right through a check Cop me a jet Young nigga cop him a TEC Cop me a jet

(Fuck you) fuck you, come up here then Oh, wow, big pussy You guys ready? Yo, yo Shut your bitch ass up, nigga (uh) Fuck you to anyone that claim that they got me (uh) When my heart was low, it turn to kami-kamikaze Respect was takin' back my gallery, I'm finna spaz (yeah) The truth is everything we need, can we agree with that? (Yeah) The group is over without being on the album (huh) I'm back and ready, Ciarán had to bring it out me (huh) I love to hate but these days I'ma keep it classy (huh) Niggas I made, I love to see them boys surpass me (huh) Flava Flav with the way we keep it nasty (huh) Jesus my Savior, own my masters like Master P I can't explain it, dawg, you know it's how magic be You gotta bring it if you gettin' on a track with me This shit a classic, ain't even been out a week The show is over nigga, please stop harassing me Stop asking me, it's bad enough for me to deal with this tragedy On my own (on my own, on my own, on my own) What? On my what? Oh, no, no, don't, no Listen to me nigga Ooh, boy, you still a bitch boy, you ain't doin' shit boy This that murder shit, boy, this that learn to destroy The label needed 35 minutes of music It's the true shit, faggot nigga out of Houston Doin', whatever the fuck I'm 'posed to do, yeah Moshing at the shows, surprised we ain't get sued yet Crowds go loco, we lean into their amusement After shows taking photos with all the new fans I don't roll solo, need the crew to maneuver Through the loose and dark and stupid kinda movements Injectin' hope into a generation of a lotta lonely motherfuckers sick of waiting We ain't taking all them punches to the fucking faces Just to let some fuck niggas come around and say some fake shit My everyday lifestyle ain't nothin' but a hustle Can't nobody tell me shit, I made it out the jungle My everyday lifestyle ain't nothing but a hustle Gamble, slinging, doing stick-ups, nobody move a muscle My everyday lifestyle ain't nothing but a hustle Gamble, slinging, doing stick-ups, nobody move a muscle