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I wanna get to the bag.

Pacing the money, I know that she'll walk away.

Riding around wit that bag.

Follow me and you'll get blown away.

All I know is stack that paper.

Grip up or shape up.

I know I should do better but my pride, won't-let-me-let-you-walk away.

Verse -1

Baguette cut diamonds, iced out fishnets.

Shorty my empress.

Not the talkative type hard as fuck to impress.

Dolce and Gabana royal garments ruby studded she too fresh.

I just wanted you to know that it's hard to let you go.

So I'm writing you this love letter.

Your beautiful smile that shines in the dimmest light, skin tone with a continuance that brightens up the darkest night.

Black channel dress hour glass figure.

As though she was a Picasso come to life.

I wanna get to the bag.

Pacing the money, I know that she'll walk away.

Riding around wit that bag.

Follow me and you'll get blown away.

All I know is stack that paper.

Grip up or shape up.

I know I should do better but my pride, won't-let-me-let-you-walk away.

Verse -2

Her perfume so alluring, smooth skin, even skin tone, no tattoos.

Parda fit, what caught my eye is that shorty had no kids.

Sexy yet elegant she's a master hypnotist.

Mesmerizing hip and seductive lips.

Thought I was soulless, she took my heart and sealed it with a kiss.

You are my inspiration, My poetry in motion.

My adoration, with voluptuous curves.

You make me slur my verbs, my nouns to meow.

I don't want you tomorrow, yesterday.

I want you right now.

I wanna get to the bag.

Pacing the money, I know that she'll walk away.

Riding around wit that bag.

Follow me and you'll get blown away.

All I know is stack that paper.

Grip up or shape up.

I know I should do better but my pride, won't-let-me-let-you-walk away.