Tekstovi: Wiz Khalifa. Exit Row. G’d Up.

yeah it young khalifa man yeah
taylor gang over everything
champange paper planes
bitch taking off her widding ring
leave with us you'll never be the same
making money in major ways
if i got it then imma spend it if
i want to
and pick you up anyting you want too
and nahh i aint gotta say anyhing
about us right in front of you
i do all of that shit when them niggas dont want to
pop another bottle imma roll
this weed up g'd up g'd up
pop anther bottle imma roll
this weed up so g'd up g'd up
big faced digits whip aint rented
walk inside the bank bitch im big frank frendily
big cake piled up on my plate shit endless
throw it in her face wacth the bitch make wishes
walk inside the club bottles on that liquor
groupie ac'tin up dying to get a picture
rose and paton kush be my clongoe
shorty get to keep her weed them joints already rolled

my diamonds clean all i count is cheese
walking on a dream while you trying to intervene
on top of that money them haters in-between
somkin sour seem you can smell it on her weave
smell it when i leave niggas catching feelings
og kush prescriptions keep me way onver the bulilding
rydin in my ride bangin in my system
high as whitney tryin to find away to get a million
if i got it then imma spend it if
i want to
and pick you up anyting you want too
and nahh i aint gotta say anyhing
about us right in front of you
i do all of that shit when them niggas dont want to
pop another bottle imma roll
this weed up g'd up g'd up
uh know im smoking sour you can smell it down the hall
leared this as a yougin what you sell can get you far
captain of my team tell you how to ball
aint a game