Imagine a world where luxury, hustle, and street life collide. Berner and Future paint this vivid picture through their lyrics, celebrating their success and the journey that got them there. The song dives into themes of wealth accumulation from different ventures like weed, dope, and other hustles. They flaunt their riches with mentions of expensive jewelry, bulletproof cars, and lavish lifestyles. Despite the opulence, there's an underlying tone of vigilance—armed guards and shooters are ever-present to protect their empire. It's a raw portrayal of how they've risen to the top while staying true to their roots in the streets.
Draped Up
Lyrics
Pluto
Berner
(Flexing on that bitch, hold up)
(Early morning flights and long nights)
That zootie, that cookie baking (know I'm sayin?)
Look at all of this money on me (woo)
Look at all of these twenties on me
Dirty cash (FOREVEROLLING)
Three or four awards, thirty-four stores (yeah) (woo)
Just seen another cover story on me by Forbes (by Forbes)
In a Black Cadillac with the bulletproof doors (doors)
Lit the hotel room up, white ashes on their floors (yeah)
Got a plain jane Rollie, I don't need a whole kit (nah)
Another billion off weed, I don't need a whole brick
Blue building in Toronto, I'ma flood the whole Six (the whole Six)
Pull a brown bag out and gon' blow the whole shit (blow it up)
I got sick of moving cash, all my cars, and armed guards
Yeah, that's six million dollars, organized, all large (all blue)
I tell that bitch to slow down, 'cause she fuckin' with my high
Left the show with five bitches, need a couple at a time
I make plays in Miami, I ain't never hear that prime
But I shut down Eleven, left the club around nine
I sent your bitch on a mission, made her sign for the box (sign for it)
Dropped a big face at Melrose, there's lines around the block
Looks like a Jordan drop, you see, you's a Jordan box
Till I outgrew the safe and put it in the Florida rock
Till I bought my old streets and started digging tunnels up
Back in 2013, I only touched a hundred plus (alright)
Back in 2015, I only had a hundred tucked (alright)
Just bought another truck, if you're good, you'll run it up (I run it up)
I bet my enemies is sick, pour another double cup
While you sleepin' on the couch, I'll run another hundred up (Bern)
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg (Pluto)
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg (Pluto)
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
I sold another truckload, got a whole hood on zooters
I recruited more shooters, just to go knock down your shooter, yeah
Rich nigga with a Blicky and I shoot it myself (self)
Sip, sip-sippin', I get higher than spaceships (ships)
Bad bitch, bad bitch, swimming in it like Mike Phelps (Mike)
Average? No, that ain't who I am (Pluto)
Bulletproof truck like Obama
I got a stick on me, Osama
Cookin' chicken, Benihana
Put a Richard Mille on my mama (Richard Mille)
Feed the streets and I be a stunna
Cop a coupe and it's white as Madonna
Straight out the trenches, I'm growing my numbers
Drankin' Texas, better check the persona
She gon' eat it up for a sponsor
Turnin' the drip up, got her goin'
Turnin' the drip up, got her flowin'
I put some eighty pointers on your arm
I put the Jerry Rice diamonds on
Ho, gon' fuck a rich nigga for nothin'
I don't pop out without my gun
I'm in Atlanta smokin' California
They gon' pop one time for it (they gon' pop)
If that's your bitch, that's my ho (bad)
I'm on some rich shit, that's for sure (I'm on some rich)
One chain, cost a hundred or more (one chain)
Take the gang members with me on tour (take 'em)
Take a Glock with me to the awards
Fuck the world like a prostitute (yeah)
Real street nigga, I salute (bitch)
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg (Pluto)
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
Yeah, dope money, weed money, coke money, blow money, dawg (Pluto)
Draped up in ice like I'm serving Fentanyl, nigga
I sold another truckload, got a whole hood on zooters
I recruited more shooters, just to go knock down your shooter, yeah
Brown paper bag (bag), that ain't all a nigga had (had)
Bought my main bitch a car 'cause my other main bitch made me mad (mad)
Got them demons, they tweakin' (demons), they ready to attack (attack)
Hit your top for a box, I could fuck over check (zoom)
Brown paper bag (bag), that ain't all a nigga had (had)
Bought my main bitch a car 'cause my other main bitch made me mad (mad)
Got them demons, they tweakin' (demons), they ready to attack (attack)
Hit your top for a box, I could fuck over check (zoom)
I be in the trenches with dope, fool
I just put APs on my whole tool
Rather go to hell before I tell on bros, shawty
Lie to the judge on the low, on God
Writer(s): Aaron Butler, Anthony Milam Jr, Cosmo Hickox, Jeffrey Lynn Jones Jr., Nayvadius Wilburn
Copyright(s): Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Royalty Network, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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