I'm sick and tired of these sons of bitches
Who snitch to get a few views
They talk, yes they talk, they talk to me, they talk about the street
And they haven't even seen it on YouTube

Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla
Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla

Brother run, run from the cops
Ni-ni-no ni-no ni-no
I always came back home
With a new scooter
In the club I make a mess (yah)
On the street I cause chaos
I don't give a fuck bro
Bla bla bla

Out of the street like who?
Like La Quica from Medellin
I told you bro that I would take it easy
But I'm a liar and you shouldn't believe me
I make novellas cousin a ratatouille
Mind your own business or I'll take away your sleep
I get in like a dick that gets in
Mia Khalifa who returns to porn
Wella
Lend me your flow, little brother I have to make
A great figure yes of shit
Eh yah
These fools make rap with money
While I make money with rap
Ye, ye, ye
Everyone's good at making a gold record
Only thanks to the guest
Then they suck
If you divide the record in percentage
Then your part
Is a copper record
You are my appetizer like an edamame
Look another meme where I diss you badly
If you want to follow me send me a message
I'll send you to the back before playing (playing)
Ha, yeah

I'm sick and tired of these sons of bitches
Who snitch to get a few views
They talk, yes they talk, they talk to me, they talk about the street
And they haven't even seen it on YouTube

Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla
Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla

Brother run, run from the cops
Ni-ni-no ni-no ni-no
I always came back home
With a new scooter
In the club I make a mess
On the street I cause chaos
I don't give a fuck bro
Bla bla bla

I put on the new mask so at least you disappear
I look you straight in the eyes
Your capillaries burst
We knew it a year ago
Call us luminaries
Yes you're good at rapping (shut up)
Cally and Mike, uh what a duo
Gold record but it's not yours
Hype of Christ how I shine 40k otherwise I don't toast
In the kamikaze party fifty bombs on the chest
On the photos a thousand likes
But then to fuck, no you're not capable
Your scene is fiction, hallucination
You're a group of whores
Bring the money to the pimp
Best artist of the year
I bet my skin on it
I get in with the look of the pilot
Who gets into the Twin Towers

Ha, yeah
I'm sick and tired of these sons of bitches
Who snitch to get a few views
They talk, yes they talk, they talk to me, they talk about the street
And they haven't even seen it on YouTube

Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla
Like fucking wannabes (be, be)
Bla bla bla
Bla bla bla

Brother run, run from the cops
Ni-ni-no ni-no ni-no
I always came back home
With a new scooter
In the club I make a mess
On the street I cause chaos
I don't give a fuck bro
Bla bla bla

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES