Yeah, yeah
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
Put that on her body, then I put some on her buddy, yeah
I been staying silent, huh, hoes still wanna f*ck me, huh
Slide to ATL (atl, yeah) just to get some cudi (yeah)
Mixing hoes its left and right, you the uzi to my carti, uh
Speaking of carti my money old as f*ck, my paper rusty (yeah)
I take ya on a trip to any island, if I love ya (uh)
I got enemies, magazines, flashy kid
You could see, flipping green, UFC, pockets big
Take a seat, calm it down, xtcy make me lean
VIP, what I dream, VIP, what I dream
Actually that's what I dreamt, bite yo neck just like a vamp
I'm too high, no I can't stand, in my city (huh) I'm stamped
Finna blow up like a land, mine (mine)
I been out my damn (mind) mind
Two hoes at the same, time (same time)
Talk my shit like I'm Draymond (ballin)
And that's facts, I can't disrespect
I could make a hunnid, spend it all and still gon' make it back
Cadillacs, Escalades, bag talk, gettin' paid
Hit the mall, 50k, spent it all, yesterday (spent it all yesterday)
Man there's something bout that paper I can't shake it off (I can't shake)
I been overseas, call my phone it's breaking up, yeah (up)
Yeah, yeah
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
TyGlizz - mr america Lyrics
TyGlizz - mr america Lyrics
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Yeah, yeah
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
Put that on her body, then I put some on her buddy, yeah
I been staying silent, huh, hoes still wanna f*ck me, huh
Slide to ATL (atl, yeah) just to get some cudi (yeah)
Mixing hoes its left and right, you the uzi to my carti, uh
Speaking of carti my money old as f*ck, my paper rusty (yeah)
I take ya on a trip to any island, if I love ya (uh)
I got enemies, magazines, flashy kid
You could see, flipping green, UFC, pockets big
Take a seat, calm it down, xtcy make me lean
VIP, what I dream, VIP, what I dream
Actually that's what I dreamt, bite yo neck just like a vamp
I'm too high, no I can't stand, in my city (huh) I'm stamped
Finna blow up like a land, mine (mine)
I been out my damn (mind) mind
Two hoes at the same, time (same time)
Talk my shit like I'm Draymond (ballin)
And that's facts, I can't disrespect
I could make a hunnid, spend it all and still gon' make it back
Cadillacs, Escalades, bag talk, gettin' paid
Hit the mall, 50k, spent it all, yesterday (spent it all yesterday)
Man there's something bout that paper I can't shake it off (I can't shake)
I been overseas, call my phone it's breaking up, yeah (up)
Yeah, yeah
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
Put that on her body, then I put some on her buddy, yeah
I been staying silent, huh, hoes still wanna f*ck me, huh
Slide to ATL (atl, yeah) just to get some cudi (yeah)
Mixing hoes its left and right, you the uzi to my carti, uh
Speaking of carti my money old as f*ck, my paper rusty (yeah)
I take ya on a trip to any island, if I love ya (uh)
I got enemies, magazines, flashy kid
You could see, flipping green, UFC, pockets big
Take a seat, calm it down, xtcy make me lean
VIP, what I dream, VIP, what I dream
Actually that's what I dreamt, bite yo neck just like a vamp
I'm too high, no I can't stand, in my city (huh) I'm stamped
Finna blow up like a land, mine (mine)
I been out my damn (mind) mind
Two hoes at the same, time (same time)
Talk my shit like I'm Draymond (ballin)
And that's facts, I can't disrespect
I could make a hunnid, spend it all and still gon' make it back
Cadillacs, Escalades, bag talk, gettin' paid
Hit the mall, 50k, spent it all, yesterday (spent it all yesterday)
Man there's something bout that paper I can't shake it off (I can't shake)
I been overseas, call my phone it's breaking up, yeah (up)
Yeah, yeah
(I been out my damn mind, for a f*ckin' long time) yeah
(Been out my damn mind) yeah (for a f*ckin' long time) huh
Make yo life count
D-dirty in my cup, it look like Gatorade
Lil boy pipe down, gold chain, look like lemonade
Fake friends never comin' in when you locked in, but I knew that
We make him do the running man and I cop whips like a millionaire
I pop shit with a bad bitch, yeah I triple dare ya
Presidents up in my pockets, like I'm Miss America
Nah I'm Mr. America, yeah I'm Mr. America
Writer: Tyler Sylvester
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid