Blow You Away - Money Man, Young Mal

Mario

Oh Lord, Jetson made another one

I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin' it fast

I’m on the way to go get me a bag

Bitch, I’m the passenger, you know she bad

She got my extras, I’m angry, mad

They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs

Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass

We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz

That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab

Three different flavors, come purchase some bud

Download my tape, I might show you some love

Too many plays, I can’t go to the club

Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album

I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume

When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume

Cash out with me, you can get a good value

Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you

She not a horse but she look like a stallion

Questioning shit, you just kept the medallion

Sewed up the hood, niggas heavily banging

Come with that rocket ship, niggas is dying

Bit on my face so I look like a lion

She backin' up on my dick and she grinding

Give me two million or I’m never signing

All the designer, I should be a stylist

That ho you cuff, she got too much mileage

I’m on the plane with the pack in the private

I’m burning on loud, nigga, far from quiet

Everybody got sticks, nigga, why would you try it?

Got my money big feelin', that shit be giant

I don’t wanna conversate, I want vagina

I build me a bitch like we a science

I grow my own food, I’m self-reliant

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Push up on me, I’ma blow you away

Treat a ho like a pistol and throw her away

The pack came late, it had to delay

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

She sexy as hell, she bad as fuck

She know my ex-bitch mad as fuck

I bust down a bale and bag it up

Beep, beep, beep, beep

Just like a truck, she back it up

These niggas used to laugh at us

Now they wanna make songs and rap with us

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

I grab me a pound and bag it up

Heard your lil' song, it’s wack as fuck

I get them racks and stack 'em up

I got racks, I keep racks, I got racks, racks, racks

I keep young niggas with me and they keep straps, that’s no cap

I’m with Money Man, I got rubber bands and they bustin' out my pants

Flight to Miami, when I land I got gunners, they got sticks in hand

Hot just like a sauna, man

Never leave my brother, shit get ugly, I can’t take the stand

I ain’t talkin' on the phone, you want a P, you know the fee

Wrist cold like the sea, Eskimo, 1017

My son got Gucci carseat, my bitch in love with Birkin B

I’m the boss, they work for me

They say talk is cheap, but if I’m talkin', ain’t talkin' cheap

My whole hood bettin' on me

I got racks on me, I keep racks on me

Nigga wanna know the rest, then bitch, get in your bag

I hop in the coupe and I’m whippin' it fast

I’m on the way to go get me a bag

Bitch, I’m the passenger, you know she bad

She got my extras, I’m angry, mad

They belong in a barrel, these niggas be crabs

Run off with a pack and get shot in the ass

We in the trap, we don’t listen to jazz

That nigga too soft, I ain’t tryna collab

Three different flavors, come purchase some bud

Download my tape, I might show you some love

Too many plays, I can’t go to the club

Too many plays, I can’t drop me an album

I know Saks Fifth, you gotta buy volume

When I light up my blunt, this shit turn into volume

Cash out with me, you can get a good value

Fresh off the lot, you should pay me to style you