Cali King
Cali King

Lil Tracy - Cali King Lyrics

5
Cali King Music Video

Cali King Lyrics

(Ayy, Xz, you fire)

I got three freaks on the Cali king (on a Cali king)
Huh, he on a twin bed with some dirty sheets (on some dirty sheets)
I spent fifty-five hundred, I told 'em to keep the receipt (fifty-five hundred)
Had a dream I was rapping inside of the booth, I work in my sleep (let's go)
Yeah, he don't wanna get rich, he want clout, yeah (he want clout, yeah)
You say you run it up then why the fuck you on the couch? Yeah
(Why the fuck you on the couch? Yeah)
Shoutout to my accountant
I swear to God I woke up to like forty thousand (let's go)

Cali king inside my room, I could fit all your hoes
I put diamonds on my tooth, don't hide my smile no more
Put my dick inside her gut, she sing the highest note
Yeah, them hating niggas talk but they on silent mode
Why these niggas flexing for the Gram? (Why?)
Knowing damn well he could use a helping hand (a helping hand)
I'm not tryna stunt but my belt cost more than your pants
I make these niggas sick, get some medicine for that man
(Get some medicine for that man)
I jumped on a plane, I'm in first class on the way to go pick up some guap
No cap, I just got me a big bag, used to put money right in my sock
I really don't care 'bout your bitch ass, you can hate on me all that you want
I know you broke and your bitch trash, need to take that bitch out to the dump (woo)
I'm running shit like a president counting dividends (dividends)
Yeah, I'm tired of the bitches, want a princess (want a princess)
I'm too smart, bitch, I probably could've went to Princeton
Balling hard, bitch, I probably could pay for the Pistons

I got three freaks on the Cali king (on a Cali king)
Huh, he on a twin bed with some dirty sheets (on some dirty sheets)
I spent fifty-five hundred, I told 'em to keep the receipt (fifty-five hundred)
Had a dream I was rapping inside of the booth, I work in my sleep (let's go)
Yeah, he don't wanna get rich, he want clout, yeah (he want clout, yeah)
You say you run it up then why the fuck you on the couch? Yeah
(Why the fuck you on the couch? Yeah)
Shoutout to my accountant
I swear to God I woke up to like forty thousand (forty thousand)

Writer(s): Jazz Ishmael Butler
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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