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Seven Figure Habits
Pouya
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Lyrics
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Ayo Lil Mexico, pass the gas
They want the old Fat Nick, back on bullshit
Popped a lot of percs now I pop a lot of Glocks
If you see a bad bitch, I fucked her and all her friends
I spent my money on some guns, got some diamonds and some drip
This a seven figure habit, [?] can't get a casket
I been rich for way too long, these is facts, I don't be braggin'
See that Porsche roof drop, 556 pop
Every IG model want my dick but they get cropped
In the club twenty bottles of that Hen' I pop 'em off
In the streets, thirty clip, who or where, we let 'em off
This a big body, we spin on anybody
And we ain't movin' half bricks, wะต talkin' big money
The Hellcat makะต a lot of noise, sound like a Glock shot
Your man, he talk a lot of shit but he a broke fuck
Sendin' opps to the grave by the dump truck
If you the last man standin' have the pole tucked
It's a blitz when I pull up, ZZ Corvette when I pull off
If that bitch ain't suckin' dick I tell that hoe to pause and skrrt off
You broke, don't want no issues
My pistol come with some tissues
These perkies don't make me miss you
You thuggin' so keep it with you
Remix Sprite, yeah, these bullets might, yeah
These diamonds bright, yeah, keep duckin' it's on sight, yeah
Road runnin' demon, chop a pack, ain't never catch me lackin'
Ain't need no scammin' just to get my bands up, what I'm stackin'
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Baby Bone put 24's on that Vogue
You bitches still whippin' Volvos
Fanboys take photos
Hoes take they clothes off and offer me blowjobs for nothin'
You expect me not to accept?
How you get me naked and then you come for my neck?
Every move I make is calculated, all for the set
As the hate grows, as do the bankrolls
So we keep everything from MAC-10s to flamethrowers
Too deep in the HV yellin' "why the fuck you hate me?"
I just wanna make my money and music and live safely
So I keep it off safety
Know my enemies wanna take me
Six feet underneath the ground but it don't fuckin' phase me
Yeah I walk a tightrope knowin' one day I will fall off
But until then, keep the gloves on
Might hit a fuckboy with a crowbar
Then run away like I was Olaf
I peeled off in a minivan
I'm feelin' like I'm Jackie Chan
I do my stunts, I stack my bands
I split it up with friends and fam
I thank the Lord for all my fans, yuh
I pray I'm never broke again
I've been through hell and back again
I'll never let the devil in my soul
A hundred bands for the Benz
Runnin' over picket fences
Potholes and bullet holes, put fuckboys in trenches
I got goals I gotta reach before I'm 37
Bitch it's Kevin, motherfucker
Give a fuck about a reverend, only prayin' to myself, yuh
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