Paroles de la chanson Fresh Outta London par Jake Paul

Chanson manquante pour "Jake Paul" ? Proposer les paroles
Proposer une correction des paroles de "Fresh Outta London"

Paroles de la chanson Fresh Outta London par Jake Paul

(J-J-Joey)

I don't need new friends, I don't like fake friends
Only here to make M's, call when the check in
I don't like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas
If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover of Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah

Wrist is flooded
No competition, can't listen, ain't talkin' 'bout shit

I'm lit, they know it
They wanna hate on the music, but I'm makin' hits
These hundreds, I throw 'em
I need like eighty a show, that's some minimum shit
I leave the house and I'm wearin' some shit you can't get
And I swear this shit cost like a brick

I've been runnin' up M's all week, I'm a vet
Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on a jet
On a different time, this an Audemars Piguet
See eight bad bitches like the brand new 'Vette (Skrrt)
We gon' get 'em all, why the fuck I would I stress?
Think I need rehab, I'm addicted to a check
And she gon' say it's love, but she know I want the sex

Bitch, don't you dare leave a hickey on my neck
'Cause the Cullinan massage my back, I'm stressed (I'm stressed)
Stars in the roof get the bitch undressed
With an ass like that, I forget my ex (Haha)
Racks like this meant that God, I'm blessed
I been on top, I should beat my chest
Tell you that she loyal, we gon' put her to the test
Wanna lose your bitch? Well, then be my guest
'Cause I been real cold in this Moncler vest

I don't need new friends, I don't like fake friends
Only here to make M's, call when the check in
I don't like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas

If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover of Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah

Wrist is flooded
No competition, can't listen, ain't talkin' 'bout shit
I'm lit, they know it
They wanna hate on the music, but I'm makin' hits
These hundreds, I throw 'em
I need like eighty a show, that's some minimum shit
I leave the house and I'm wearin' some shit you can't get
And I swear this shit cost like a brick

Paroles.net dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)