Don’t Play With Me

Yeah…

Pretty face, cold heart, real talk.

Don’t play with me — play with your mama.

I’m the type make a broke boy sick,

He talk loud but he can’t hit sht,

New nails, new bag, new fit,

Talk slick — I might take yo’ bitch.

He like my tone, he like my stare,

Ass too fat, he just stand there,

I don’t share plates, I don’t share air,

I’m that one, baby — I’m rare.

Yeah, he love a baddie with an attitude,

I walk in, change the whole mood,

Bitches watch, they wish they could,

I do it once — they still confused.

Don’t play with me, I don’t laugh no more,

Big bank, big body, can’t ignore,

I’m the one they gon’ hate, adore,

If it ain’t money, what you talkin’ for?

Don’t play with me, I’m not sweet,

Pretty and mean, that’s elite,

He say “please,” I say “we’ll see,”

Bitch, I’m pressure — that’s on me.

Got a bag, now they all tight,

Post one pic, ruin they night,

He said, “Damn, girl, you my type,”

I said, “Yeah, I know — sit right.”

Yeah, don’t get loud, get paid,

Ain’t no shade, I throw grenades,

Too fine to ever get played,

I’m the wave, not the trade.

Bad bitch talk, that’s routine,

Whole lotta gloss, whole lotta green,

Don’t compare, stay in between,

I’m the face, the boss, the queen.