LaDaDaDa - YN Jay

(Intro Sample)
Money is not everything, it's the only thing
Yaaah!
Shit!
Ay!
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
(Verse 1)
This is not no dog shit, this a fucking gat, hey
This bitch sellin' cat, she gon' fuck for gas, hey
(Mumbling ad-lib) she wanna fuck the rapper
Hey, she know I'm Coochie Man, she wanna fuck a rapper
(Mumbling ad-lib) you a fucking capper, hey
Heeey, hmmmm
(Mumbling ad-lib)
I turned around, shooting, got me busting backwards
Who dropped the AirTag in this car? This ain't no fucking tracker, hey
You know when I pull up, you ain't even fucking 'llowed to ask for shit, hmm
Her friends get to slackin', make me bust twice
Hey, I thought she wanted me, she wanna fuck Mike
Like how these bitches pray? They only bust twice
He scared to hit the club, I got him drunk twice
We went to the club for one night, but I got drunk twice
I only bought two cups 'cause that mean I'm drunk twice
Blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blah-blu-blu
Hey, she gave me a pen and told me sign her coochie
(Chorus)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
(Verse 2)
You know I'm pullin' up and I'm with Tay Roc
You know you gotta bring your friend 'cause I'm with 8 Roc
Aye, you know you gotta have a friend for little D, hey
You know that ho you love, man, she in love with me
You know I'm jumpin' in, if it's my brother B
You know this ain't your block, this is my brother's street, hey
You know this ain't my gun, this my brother's heat
Aye, you know we pullin' up when we a hunnid deep
Why the fuck you trying to race me? You can't run with me
Aye, I'm finna walk you down, you better not run from me
This bitch pulled up to my office and ate lunch with me, aye
Beat a nigga ass, you can't punch with me
And we can put the gloves on and go behind the crib
I get to beefin', get real, I'm at your mama crib
This nigga got a car but he ain't got a crib
He got shot below his chest, now he ain't got no ribs
Like how I got a son and I ain't got no kids?
And babies can't come to my house cause I don't like your kids
They bad as hell
They always doin' somethin', got me mad as hell, aye
Nigga did ten, got out, and went back to jail
You must like the jail, you must like your cell
This nigga fucked his custo, you must like yourself
I call bro phone, I didn't write no mail
He had a phone in jail
I'm finna call a demon, I ain't know that they had phones in hell
I walked past your bitch, she got a whiff of my cologne smell
This nigga boomin' dope out his crib, he make home sales
(Chorus)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)
La-da-da-da (Yeah!)