Fight Night Round 3
Fight Night Round 3

Lil Yachty ft. Babyface Ray, Veeze - Fight Night Round 3 Lyrics

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Fight Night Round 3 Music Video

Fight Night Round 3 Lyrics

If I was down to my last dollar, give a fuck what they think
We gon' load up eighty bands in an old Impala
Told this bitch, "my boys from Detroit," she askin' us 'bout Sada
My wife prolly up in New York makin' enchiladas
Bitch want me to put her in school, I am not your papa
.30 clip and it feel full, I'm in my mood
Ready to road rage in a Rolls (ayy)
Ready to road rage in a Rolls to go hit your ho
Bitch, leave me alone when I'm home and I'm sippin' my four
Niggas better not run up on me wrong, that shit in my coat
And it clear they lookin' at Boat just like he the Pope

You know I done done it all, I ain't Shawty Lo
Rap nigga play with the bag, keep it on the low
Cool nigga run with the steppers, steppin' on the dope
I just-I just touched down, Yachty scooped me Double R
I think I got everythin', man, Saint Laurent
Nigga say they see on the jet and on the block
Give a bad bitch four minutes like a vibe
Lil' cuz said he want some money, send him out
Spot bangin' like it's fast food, In-N-Out
If my youngins catch a nigga outside, they'll spin the block
How the fuck these niggas actin' like they street? They in the house

Heard that nigga want the clout, fuck it, put them in a cloud
Heard the brokest niggas loud, that's why I don't make a sound
That nigga said he don't like Veeze, he don't know why
I read about shit that you ain't seen or you ain't know about
I sleep on Chrome Heart pillows at Lil Boat house
I'm doin' scammin', sendin' bows to your ho house
Ridin' with a hundred twenty shots, boy, that's four Glocks
Me and Face had shows and lows and they sold out
We just turned a San Fran' mansion to a grow house
I just spent three thousand on a coat 'cause it's cold now

I can't ride around in that Bentley 'cause it's old now
I can't hang around with that nigga 'cause he told now
You was just a gangsta online, why you foldin' now?
I thought body was your OG, why they hoein' him out?

Pull in ATL with them things, make it snow in the south
Couple by the door in my room, it's one more on the couch
Cellotine wavy, not a yacht in the water
Rolex shoppin', seen the Yacht' and I bought it
Me and Meech treat the gallery like a office
Lately, I been globetrottin' like I'm playin' in Harlem

Ridin' 'round like we ain't famous with a Glock in the 'Rari
All my niggas bangin' red, like they got hired at Target
'Bout to change my name to Ken, all my bitches be Barbies
She keep throwin' me the pussy, but I really don't want it
If her throat could have a baby, I might end up on Maury
Walk around with twenty thousand for the times I was starvin'

If she pop a X pill, then that pussy, I'm carvin'
I done fucked a thousand bitches who BD's think I'm garbage
Well it's a pandemic, world recession, I'm never starvin'
Nigga play with my money, leave him lumpy like Martin
Let's be honest, I'm the real reason you bitches want a Birkin
How the hell his nails painted and his niggas might murk you?
Made a million dollars cash in a bank I ain't go to
Seen what you said online, I just really don't know you
Why would I shine some light on these niggas on purpose?
My bitch bring her friend, it's gon' turn to a circus
I just got mad at Veeze, he don't check his purchases
Ah, I'm in purses
This bitch mad I ain't text back, she worthless

Writer(s): Bill Conti, Daniel Ray Robinson Jr., Karon Vantrees, Marcellus Register, Miles Parks McCollum
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, The Administration MP, Inc., PFIVE Entertainment Mexico
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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