Irene Video (MV)

Big blunt full of that Irene
Better watch yo bitch boy she like me
Tattoos nothin but a white T
I can tell you why they don't like me
Cuz I'm a star
Is it Cause Of the cars
Cause we get to the Guap
Boy pray to your god

Me against you that's a miss match top floor nigga where yo bitch at
Shoot a f*ck nigga in his six pack leave him wit a shit bag tell that boy get back
Three fifty the sneakers you boys in the bleachers
Penthouse for the weekend two hoes finna five off the deep end
I'm a custom hemi thing creepin semi on a nigga for the o and the defense
K got the mop he gon clean shit E got the broom he gon sweep shit
Niggas never been wit the G shit up while u sleeping
This ain't for the weekend gave the bitch a pill now I got the bitch peakin
Every nigga wit me hold weight bought a whole zone just to smoke to the face
Pack touch down send it back out of state
Ride around in Cali in a lac paper plates
Twenty four hours then I'm back home base
Two days in then I'm back out of state
Rollin up exotic blow the smoke in your face
All head shots so he can't save face
We be eatin good let yo bitch say grace
On a money run you just in a rat race
When I pulled up shoulda seen a nigga face
Never leave the crib without a glock on my waist
Everything we do for the cake
Big blunt full of cheesecake
Blow the smoke in a hater face
Ayy

Bigg blunt full of that Irene
Better watch yo bitch boy she like me
Tattoos nothin but a white T
I can tell you why they don't like me
Cause I'm a star
Is it cause of the cars
Cause we get to the guap
Boy pray tp your god

One fifty got the hemi thing screamin
Clique full of muf*ckin demons
Bad bitch suckin on my semen flew her in to town now she mine for the weekend
Big bank chasers real risk takers
Keep jars full of flavors I just pulled up came for the paper
Pocket lil baby I save her for later
She want some bread ima mold her n shape her
Start up my car and I got the house shaking
Hit that bitch raw and I leave her legs shaking
Ain't help the kid but be askin for favors
Don't check for me less you got checks or paper

She bad as f*ck but can't love her or save her I'm back in the trap wit my bro from Jamaica

Big blunts of gelato the AR got drums that hit like a staccato
Big glock wit the hollows they know that it's on me where I go
But f*ck all the bull shit we smokin wit models in penthouses right on the top bro
They want it to stop bro
We never gon stop ho
Pull up we do it for paper
Pull up we keep in the flavors
I say it's no L's then I woulda lied
I lost a O but yo homie died
You know my niggas them finna slide
We livin like that shit all the time
I know you niggas ain't finna ride
I'll see yo boys on the other side