(E-E-E-Enrgy made this one)
(Woah, what)
Penthouse suite, top floor
Prices got cheap, we should let him go (woah)
Watch my nigga spend 100K on a plain watch
Told him, "Give me ten more days, I'ma get me one"
Two hunnid occasions (what you do?), I gave it (gave it)
Thumbin' through the payment in a rental car from AVIS (backend)
Withdrawal on that Wocky, I shrivel up like a raisin (real)
My nigga Trip black as hell, but he sell Caucasian (jungle fever)
White dope I sell it to my white folks
I ain't racist 'bout that paper, I ain't goin' broke
Pint of Hi-Tek red, I put this shit up on yo' head
I got bad bitches textin' me like, "Where you at?"
Walkin' out of St. Regis with fifty in my britches
Get the drink dirt cheap, when I go cross the bridge
Count a hundred-fifty bucks out, it got me dizzy
Spendin' (how?), I f*cked off a eighty ball with Izzy (necklace)
Let her wear my chain, got my pendant on her titties (look)
Off the yacht, to the jet, just to see the Grizzlies (booked)
Jason said, "You cuttin' it close, you gotta show you trippin'" (woah)
I'm not missin' that cornbread, be there in a jiffy (go)
They said that it gotta be in you, it can't be on you
But I got it in me and it's on me, what you want? (Woah)
Poker face, when I see the plug, we talkin' business
Plain Richard Mille, so them white folks take me serious
In a meetin' wit' 'em, legs crossed, hand on my chin (grin)
Tryna negotiate me a label deal for ten
I want in, I won't drop the ball I bet we win
They be like, "Trip, is you sellin' Fent'?" nah
Five red bitches, that's a- (take ya time, hold up) (hold up, hold up)
Five red bitches, that's a fan, ball
Two bricks of soft in the loft
Hit it and you winnin', in the kitchen like it's golf (kitchen like it's golf)
Was tryna get it off, so I front him what he bought
I don't talk numbers wit' runners, shit, nigga, I'm a boss
And we gon' drop you off, talkin' 'bout you ain't tryna spin
I'm throwed, I be thinkin' 'bout a soul when I grin
Niggas hoes, I had bows way before it was a trend (soft ass nigga)
Only rap beef I had died before it ever began
Real street nigga trappin', gettin' high and smokin' cigs
Could turn it back to drop, blow it up and make it big
Top Dolla Video (MV)
Performed By: Tripstar and Moneybagg Yo and EST Gee and CMG The Label
Written by: Demario White, George Stone III, Marlon Lafayette Brown, Terrence Triplett
Tripstar and Moneybagg Yo and EST Gee and CMG The Label - Top Dolla Lyrics
Official
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
(E-E-E-Enrgy made this one)
(Woah, what)
Penthouse suite, top floor
Prices got cheap, we should let him go (woah)
Watch my nigga spend 100K on a plain watch
Told him, "Give me ten more days, I'ma get me one"
Two hunnid occasions (what you do?), I gave it (gave it)
Thumbin' through the payment in a rental car from AVIS (backend)
Withdrawal on that Wocky, I shrivel up like a raisin (real)
My nigga Trip black as hell, but he sell Caucasian (jungle fever)
White dope I sell it to my white folks
I ain't racist 'bout that paper, I ain't goin' broke
Pint of Hi-Tek red, I put this shit up on yo' head
I got bad bitches textin' me like, "Where you at?"
Walkin' out of St. Regis with fifty in my britches
Get the drink dirt cheap, when I go cross the bridge
Count a hundred-fifty bucks out, it got me dizzy
Spendin' (how?), I f*cked off a eighty ball with Izzy (necklace)
Let her wear my chain, got my pendant on her titties (look)
Off the yacht, to the jet, just to see the Grizzlies (booked)
Jason said, "You cuttin' it close, you gotta show you trippin'" (woah)
I'm not missin' that cornbread, be there in a jiffy (go)
They said that it gotta be in you, it can't be on you
But I got it in me and it's on me, what you want? (Woah)
Poker face, when I see the plug, we talkin' business
Plain Richard Mille, so them white folks take me serious
In a meetin' wit' 'em, legs crossed, hand on my chin (grin)
Tryna negotiate me a label deal for ten
I want in, I won't drop the ball I bet we win
They be like, "Trip, is you sellin' Fent'?" nah
Five red bitches, that's a- (take ya time, hold up) (hold up, hold up)
Five red bitches, that's a fan, ball
Two bricks of soft in the loft
Hit it and you winnin', in the kitchen like it's golf (kitchen like it's golf)
Was tryna get it off, so I front him what he bought
I don't talk numbers wit' runners, shit, nigga, I'm a boss
And we gon' drop you off, talkin' 'bout you ain't tryna spin
I'm throwed, I be thinkin' 'bout a soul when I grin
Niggas hoes, I had bows way before it was a trend (soft ass nigga)
Only rap beef I had died before it ever began
Real street nigga trappin', gettin' high and smokin' cigs
Could turn it back to drop, blow it up and make it big
(Woah, what)
Penthouse suite, top floor
Prices got cheap, we should let him go (woah)
Watch my nigga spend 100K on a plain watch
Told him, "Give me ten more days, I'ma get me one"
Two hunnid occasions (what you do?), I gave it (gave it)
Thumbin' through the payment in a rental car from AVIS (backend)
Withdrawal on that Wocky, I shrivel up like a raisin (real)
My nigga Trip black as hell, but he sell Caucasian (jungle fever)
White dope I sell it to my white folks
I ain't racist 'bout that paper, I ain't goin' broke
Pint of Hi-Tek red, I put this shit up on yo' head
I got bad bitches textin' me like, "Where you at?"
Walkin' out of St. Regis with fifty in my britches
Get the drink dirt cheap, when I go cross the bridge
Count a hundred-fifty bucks out, it got me dizzy
Spendin' (how?), I f*cked off a eighty ball with Izzy (necklace)
Let her wear my chain, got my pendant on her titties (look)
Off the yacht, to the jet, just to see the Grizzlies (booked)
Jason said, "You cuttin' it close, you gotta show you trippin'" (woah)
I'm not missin' that cornbread, be there in a jiffy (go)
They said that it gotta be in you, it can't be on you
But I got it in me and it's on me, what you want? (Woah)
Poker face, when I see the plug, we talkin' business
Plain Richard Mille, so them white folks take me serious
In a meetin' wit' 'em, legs crossed, hand on my chin (grin)
Tryna negotiate me a label deal for ten
I want in, I won't drop the ball I bet we win
They be like, "Trip, is you sellin' Fent'?" nah
Five red bitches, that's a- (take ya time, hold up) (hold up, hold up)
Five red bitches, that's a fan, ball
Two bricks of soft in the loft
Hit it and you winnin', in the kitchen like it's golf (kitchen like it's golf)
Was tryna get it off, so I front him what he bought
I don't talk numbers wit' runners, shit, nigga, I'm a boss
And we gon' drop you off, talkin' 'bout you ain't tryna spin
I'm throwed, I be thinkin' 'bout a soul when I grin
Niggas hoes, I had bows way before it was a trend (soft ass nigga)
Only rap beef I had died before it ever began
Real street nigga trappin', gettin' high and smokin' cigs
Could turn it back to drop, blow it up and make it big
Writer: Demario White, George Stone III, Marlon Lafayette Brown, Terrence Triplett
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC