1 Scale (feat. G Herbo)

Let the band play
 Yeah
 All I need is one scale, a couple bales, came in this shit by myself
 Dolph, why you fuck his girl? Uh, shit, 'cause I'm a player
 Quarterback, no NFL, drippy in Chanel (Drippy)
 Playin' hide and go seek in the mansion with my lil' girl (Aria)
 Elevator was too crowded, so I took the stairs
 The whole industry was hatin', so now I give 'em hell
 Business man, I invest a whole million in the mail
 Yeah (yeah), yeah (yeah), yeah (yeah), yeah
 I-I-I treat bitches like some shoes, I cop 'em by the pairs
 She like when I grab her neck and pull her by her hair
 In my city, I'm more important than the fuckin' mayor
 Ten years straight, I set the prices on the kush, I swear
 I got your bitch lookin' for Flippa (where he at?)
 I let her ride like a bicycle
 I pulled out and bust on her dimples
 Quarter milli' for this Richard
 I had to run up them digits (run it up)
 Niggas know that I'm the sickest (for real)
 Bitches know that I'm the littest
 Whip my dick out and piss on your feelings
 I heard that lil' nigga from Memphis
 I heard he used to trap in Fendi
 I heard he went to jail in a Bentley
 Straps with me in New York City
 Lil' black nigga with all this fuckin' paper on me, man
 What the fuck they mean, man?
 I can't go out like that, huh, hold up
 Bangin' L's, swangin' scales (what?)
 Shakin', got residue in my nails (what?)
 Started gettin' real money, we bustin' bales
 Everybody on the floor know the smell, uh
 Dropped out of high school
 Had to start bringin' my Glock, couldn't show and tell, uh
 Big bro got life in the feds
 Can't talk on the phone, but he know his will
 Walked out the trap with a big ol' bag
 'Til I pop in the house, I was on the sale
 We was sinnin' on Sunday, that bitch in my hand
 But I'm sinnin' in my head, know I'm gon' prevail, uh
 If I call her house phone
 Tell her bring that bitch out cocked, then my mama will
 I was eighteen, my OG seen me hop out the Benz or a Bonneville
 I bought a mansion
 Pop in that bitch fresh off a shootout, I'm hot as hell
 Shh, you gon' do some time, niggas probably tell
 Fuck it, this lifestyle, know I probably will
 I'm in New York with my nigga Dolph
 He rockin' wop, but his neck on Gabbana still
 I'm rockin' Christian Dior with a bag full of blues
 All black but it's Prada still (swerve)
 I'm in the 'Raq, Benihana, don't eat at Hamada
 See opp, he get probably killed
 Told lil' bro come out with me in Bally
 Get out the 'Raq, he might come near, catch a body still
 I'll pull up on your home in a Lam' smokin' out a sack
 Arch her back, disappear, artifact
 I ain't comin' with shit but my pipe and a box of mags
 Twenty on me, that's my starter pack
 Gettin' too much money, we ain't tryna make arch-rivals
 You know we spark ride
 I was outside and that's the reason we won battles
 Nigga, we weren't part-time
 Got a youngin, he only send straight at you
 You ain't never heard that snake rap?
 On a nigga head, then we just can't catch you
 Spin twice, mad as fuck, we went straight past you
 Ever tried to kill a nigga just 'cause you had to?
 Leanin' up in the clubhouse like Rascal
 Everybody rich as fuck, ain't nothin' past due
 I could go grab a M from my mama pad too
 Let me see what you gon' do, we could team-tag two
 Oh, you ain't with the shit, have somebody blast you
 Kel-Tec on my lap, if God bless you, I tag you
 Have you fillin' the bag with your fast food (pussy)