Quacee - Celine Lyrics

Why you still callin' my phone?
Don't you see I'm gettin' chicken?
Why won't you leave me alone?
Is you mad that you not winnin'?
Oh lord, please don't be a victim
Run- Run down, you gettin' popped
I just took a- and I'm off of the wock'
That lil' bitch so chopped
She still let me beat up her box though
But I won't beat up the box
I just might spin in a Tahoe
I just might spin on the opps
I'm goin' up and nobody could stop
I'm goin' up, like some motherf*ckin' stocks
I got a Glock in my motherf*ckin' sock
So if you try run down, you gettin' flocked
I gotta go, bitch, look at the time, bitch, look at the clock
I'mma f*ck her and her friend in a Cullinan
Just let me finish countin', man
I get the guap and I put it in duffle's, man
Then I triple, and double it
Then I go with your bitch to the back of the room
But she suckin' my dick, she not f*ckin' me
She want Celine, but she not gettin' shit, 'cause she not my girl
Baby, c'mere, do a lil' spin, do a lil' twirl, I'll give you them pearls
I told the bitch how she different
She not like them girls, I'll give you the world
I asked the bitch, and she wit' it
Red dot, aim it right there at his fitted
Yeah, I bought a new coupe, windows tinted
I'm goin' up, you know I'm committed
F*ck with me, and shit get wicked
I f*cked her once, now that bitch, she addicted
And yes, little girl, this a gift, bitch
She on the floor, tryna see what this dick did
I would f*ck witchu, but you twisted
Now she on me, tryna feel on my dick print
God damn, you a fan
Why you playin'?
Why you hatin'?
Can't f*ck with haters, yeah, they be some haters
On my money grind, bitch, I'm gettin' paper
On my money grind, bitch, I'm gettin'- bitch, I'm gettin' paper