Fever - Packy

I got that fever, they like it

I know this, I’m psychic

When I’m out in public they all on my private

Low key I’m thrown, low key I’m cold

Low key I’m platinum if these records ever get sold

R-R-Records ever get sold, records ever get sold

Low key I’m Chamberlain, these records never get old

That hundo' percent

Five hundo' for rent

When I’m paid out, forget what that five hundo' meant

Fever, I got it bad

Get a little bit of that swag, bit of that sag

Bit of that got you mad

Get a little hit of ass

Bit a little bit of gas

Bit of that flame

Give her that player, spit her that game

Tell that chick to get rid of that lane

Ask that chick what she thinkin'

I’m that guy, where you been?

I’ma leave my boys with your friends

Yeah that’s fine

Used to ask, now I say what’s on my mind

Like, «Come over girl, I’ve been known to get faded off of wine»

She said, «Let me feel your head, that’s a fever every time»

Man down

I’m throwing up

Nobody put they hands down it’s a holdup

I’m hella' hot

Can’t come close to a kid like me

But you can get it front row, get hyphy

Get high, g-get high

Get high, g-get high

Get high, g-get high

It just might be that fever

Uh, I’m messed up

They newly faded fresh cut

My team the on-deck circle man we next up

Midwest, I get it

Detroit I might fit it

Midwest, that’s my shit

Nobody messin' with it

Two of them make one of me

CEO of my company

R.E.F.S.: Rich Early Fuck Stress

Real shit, don’t ask choes

Don’t approach with no ass, woah

Not normally like this but that fever make me an asshole

Oh my damn though

They love me all on that channel

Got the rap game on that utter shit, I’m milking it with no cattle

Keep that flame on with no candle

Ri-Ride the beat with no handle

She want to ri-ride with no saddle

She said «Hit it boy with no paddle», dang

I’m doing something right I ain’t changin' a thing

Moved out of that neighborhood but I ain’t changing the name

Speck though 'til I die, Speck choes they fly

Get you over them ex choes, got next choes on my mind

Man down

I’m throwing up

Nobody put they hands down it’s a holdup

I’m hella' hot

Can’t come close to a kid like me

But you can get it front row get hyphy

Get high, g-get high

Get high, g-get high

Get high, g-get high

It just might be that fever

Uhh, yeah, uhh, yeah

Uhh, uhh, yeah