Stop What The Hell Are You Talking About | Billie Elish

They call me dubcuda was the last name Money in my lap doin a buck in the fast lane The passion of a husler I got it And if it aint about money I don't wanna talk about it The passion of a husler I got it And if it aint about money I don't wanna talk about it Now lemme see your fingers in the sky And if you like money keep em up high Stand up put your hands up Show me what you all about Real shit nigga Yeah that's what I'm talkin' bout Getting' it in out of the concrete boots In a coupe a hundred ten Blowin like a flute Fresh off of lockdown Straight out the chute Nigga down for whatever Still all about the loot The property of poverty The looters of youth Now it's denim on the leather While removing the roof The hog on the hog With the "D's" on the Deuce And you can blame it on the alcohol The weed and the juice look. Lolo(?) Starter cap to the left of me You know when I rep a "C" Dub S to the death of me Motherfuckers wasn't respectin' me But im all up in your chest with heat Givin you sideline bitter niggas vasectomies Till I rest in peace Hustle the recipe Your niggas a bitch baby You need to sit next to me Dub Cuda the bandana dangler O T countin dirty money with the hanky up (?) you Shake the (?) off you Comin again please Gimme something to walk too I can't leave see For all of my niggas Who don't wear tight jeans Up they ass needs me Went independent last CD Still sold a shitload of records No radio or TV And Im stickin to the program Chucks on the concrete While the Cadillac door slams The "W" was my star symbol My jams make niggas get down Like barrels out of car windows Im a nut for Cheese and chuck T's Addicted to big butt cheeks an weaves Not a pop artist But I'll pop they heezee A branch of the same tree as Pac & Eazy Bumpin Jam Master Jay & Biggie Iron on the stove Shakin up the starch can Sprayin my Dickies Now who that nigga quick to shoot it Cap at the truest The closest to the streets to do it Me The D Fisher in this rap shit im a vet And a (?) tied around the neezeck Your future baby daddy I might be You aint never been with a nigga like me Baby slide me you number Ill call you later this weekend I can't talk now I'm on my way to rob the weed man Love by a few hated by majurity Im the reason these rappers keep security I go hard kick gears and jump cars Chuckin up the hood Three wheelin in your front yard You niggas is temporary I put faces on obituaries nigga